


Leather and Lace

by Rowena_Hill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Sirimione - Freeform, Sirius Black Lives, sirius black/hermione granger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowena_Hill/pseuds/Rowena_Hill
Summary: For Hermione Granger living in post war Britain means sorting through depositions and sitting through trials. But her work in the DMLE can only distract her so much. Nightmares and an unfading paranoia dominate her life, and simple things begin to overwhelm her. Harry is concerned, but so is his godfather. And Sirius is there when she needs it most.





	1. Chapter 1

_**Suggested listening: 'I Of The Storm' by Of Monsters And Men** _

Being afraid of windows was irrational. She had told herself that on a near daily basis but it had yet to fully sink in. Windows made you vulnerable and if you weren't careful anyone could see in.

She wasn't supposed to worry about things like that anymore but that knowledge didn't seem to stop her. Even when going down the street to the market or to work at the Ministry she was always making note of the exits, cataloging them away according to which would be easier to access should she need it. It was exhausting living like this, but her mind couldn't seem to let go of the information that she'd stored away out of necessity.

So she stood there staring out the large windows in her flat, her eyes scanning the city skyline for signs of anything that shouldn't be there. Of course there was nothing, except for the odd airplane, and that would make her feel foolish all over again. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be like this.  
Crookshanks leaned against her ankles and let out a sound somewhere between a purr and a meow. It was enough to pull her from her stupor and she felt her lips curl into a smile as she bent down to pick him up and drape him over her shoulder. The half Kneazle pressed his squished face into her mess of curls and she could have sworn that the creature let out a contented sigh.

Hermione made her legs move across the room and she sank down in an overstuffed arm chair as her familiar began to doze. From here she could see the windows and the door and the fireplace. She pressed her face into Crookshanks's thick orange fur and squeezed her eyes shut. This was home, she told herself, this was home and there was no war. There was no need for this paranoia.

The clock on her mantle chimed one and she knew she was late. Sundays meant lunch at The Burrow. Sundays meant that she had to be social and speak to people and be cheerful. She hated Sundays. At least during the week there wasn't a pretense that had to be kept up. Work interactions were simple with no strings attached. People asked how she was and her reply of 'Fine, thank you. And yourself?' were enough. Sundays meant that she was vulnerable, that there were windows all around her and still no way to get out and run.

Crooks pulled himself from her grasp and climbed up on top of the chair and settled down. There was only so much cuddling he could handle at a time. She let her body sink back into her seat, her sock covered feet tucked beneath her as she stared at the rug on the floor. For a moment she wondered if she could just go back to bed. That would be alright, wouldn't it? She chose to ignore the answer to that question as it occurred to her that her socks didn't match. That was decidedly a first.  
A rush of green light flared up in her fireplace before dying down once more. Head tilted back, she watched as her visitor dusted soot from his robes and stepped out of the hearth.

"You're hiding again," Harry pointed out as he removed his glasses and wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt.

"Is that what we're calling it now? I rather thought I was having a lie in."

He gave her a level look as he slipped his glasses back on and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose.

Dying had changed Harry Potter, that was something she'd decided not long after the Final Battle. Whether it was for the better or not, she still wasn't sure. Maybe it was that death had curbed some of his recklessness, tamed the Gryffindor lion as it were. Then again, death had changed all of them in some way or another. She was certain that a part of her had died on the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor, but that wasn't exactly something one ought to bring up in casual conversation.

"Mione," he began. Her mouth twitched; she still wasn't overly fond of the shortening of her name but was something that she had come to tolerate. "It's good for you to get out. You know that."

"I do get out. I get out every day," she replied as she sat up and tucked a curl behind her ear.

Even if she hadn't been looking up at him she would have been able to hear his eye roll.

"Work doesn't count. You know that." Heaving a sigh, he shrugged off his robes and tossed them over the arm of her sofa before sitting down on the floor in front of her chair and leaning his head back against her knees. It was funny, she thought, how such a simple action could take her right back to that tent, right back to how they'd sit together in silence after Ron had deserted them. In its own way, it was comforting and she let her fingers comb through his unruly black hair, no doubt making it worse than it was on its own.

"You scare me when you do things like this, Mione," he said after a while.

"What? Play with your hair?" She was being deliberately obtuse and she could feel his shoulders tense against her legs. Her fingertips pressed against his scalp as they trailed down his neck and over his shoulders. Maybe she'd get lucky and a neck rub would distract his train of thought.

"You know what I mean." Harry's voice was gruff as an exasperated sigh left him. Without looking at him she knew that his eyes were closed, his brows tightly knit together as his mouth pulled itself into a thin line. How was it that she knew him better than she knew herself, she wondered. Then again, she wasn't even sure if she really knew who she was at all anymore.

"I didn't sleep well," was all she gave for an explanation. Her hands stilled on his shoulders as she let herself slump forward, her forehead resting on top of his head. His hair smelled like soap, the scent clean and comforting, and was almost downy to the touch. Harry's hands came up to rest over her own and he gave them a gentle squeeze before his fingers laced with hers. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she fought to keep them from escaping.

"Why didn't you take some Dreamless Sleep?" he asked, his thumb moving over the back of her hand.  
Hermione sighed as she sat back again and pulled her hands from his grasp. "Too addicting," she replied as she scrubbed at her face, wiping away the moisture that had gathered along her eyelashes. "I have to get myself back on a regular sleeping cycle on my own." Lavender helped, so did the Melatonin from the Muggle chemist around the corner, but it still didn't stop the nightmares.

Harry turned and let his chin rest on her knee. For a moment he looked just like the eleven year old boy she'd met on the Hogwarts Express, large eyed and slightly bewildered as he looked at the world through broken glasses. She could almost forget that in the place of rounded cheeks was stubble and a strong jaw and that his eyes now looked much older than they had any right to be. At least his glasses were no longer broken.

"Come and eat. Stay for just a little while," he said, his voice pleading as his fingers plucked at the knitted material of her socks. "Sirius is coming home today."

She pressed her fingertips against her temples and rubbed them in small circles. He'd thrown his trump card and they both knew it. If she didn't show up at The Burrow to see her best friend's Godfather then he come bursting through her Floo to bug her anyways. At least in a crowd of Weasleys and Order members she'd be able to sneak away. Maybe that would satisfy the heir of the House of Black- at least for a few days.

"Just for a little while," Hermione finally agreed as she reached down to ruffle his hair up at bit more.

Harry smiled up at her, his green eyes bright in triumph. "Excellent," he pronounced as he got to his feet and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Oh, and Mione? You might want to put on matching socks."

*

Loud had always been an understatement when it came to the Weasleys. Morgana knew that she loved them all dearly, but being an only child had spoiled her on solitude and quiet. But she navigated it all the best way she knew how and that was keep to the corners and stay out of Molly's range of vision for as long as possible. The last thing she needed was for the matronly witch to start playing matchmaker.

She and Ron had made an honest go of it but once she was back at Hogwarts to complete her final year and he was established at the Auror academy it became glaringly obvious that it just wasn't going to work. It had all been puppy love and adrenaline and both had faded. It was for the best, and they both knew it. Besides, she was sure that she would have ended up hexing him on a daily basis.

Still, none of that had deterred Molly in the slightest. Everyone, it seemed, needed to be settled and starting a family now that the chaos had subsided. But she couldn't do that, not right now. Not until she had her own mind sorted out and had lost the need to check all of the exits of every room she entered. No husband or child deserved a paranoid wife whose nightmares made her wake screaming and covered in sweat. Gods, she was fucked.

Taking a sip of her butterbeer, she slipped outside and away from the cacophony of voices that seemed to echo in the cramped space of the house. The afternoon breeze was cool against her cheeks and she pulled her sweater tighter around her slim frame. It was better out here, she decided, it was better out in the crisp autumn air with bright blue skies overhead.

"You're hiding, kitten."

Turning her head, she looked up at Sirius and rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone think I'm hiding?"

He let out a laugh, the sound a soft bark, as he leaned back against the side of the house. There was a glass of fire whiskey already clutched in his hand and she couldn't help but smirk as she returned her attention to the cloudless sky. Some things would never change, and that including him insisting on calling her kitten.

"Well, you have tucked yourself back into a little crook there," he pointed out, nodding towards the corner she'd chosen to occupy.

Hermione just shrugged. "It keeps me from getting the brunt of the wind."

Sirius snorted. "Whatever makes you feel better, kitten."

They stood in companionable silence for a long time, each sipping their respective drinks and watching the few clouds roll by. If someone had asked her years ago if something like this would have even been possible with Sirius Black she most likely would have laughed in their face. While she had always respected him as a wizard, and for his devotion for Harry, she had always thought him cruel and arrogant- and that wasn't including his treatment of Kreacher. But war has a habit of changing things, changing perceptions, and Hermione Granger was no exception to that.

She never saw him fall through the Veil. In fact she didn't even know about it until she regained consciousness days later and even then the look of Harry's face was enough to tell her that something was very wrong. What none of them had expected was from the drapery of doom to spit him back out as soon as Bellatrix Lestrange breathed her last. No one understood it and the Unspeakables, as per usual, refused to talk about it. The general consensus after that was not to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. Harry had a father back and had some happiness again and that was good enough for her.

"I made a stop in Sydney," the older man said, breaking the silence. Hermione was sure that her heart had stopped beating, just for a moment, and she swallowed thickly. Sydney only meant one thing: he'd gone to see her parents. The memory charm she'd placed on them had been too thorough, too powerful, to break without landing them in the Janus Thickney ward at St. Mungo's. So Monica and Wendell Wilkins had stayed in their modest home near their modest dentistry practice on the other side of the globe.

"How...how are they?" she asked, her voice trembling as she raised the butterbeer bottle to her lips.

"They're good. Happy and tanned." Sirius tried to joke but it caught in his throat and he quickly took a large gulp of whiskey.

Hermione just nodded as she let her now empty bottle slip from her fingers and fall to the grass. "Good. That's good," she replied, her voice just above a whisper.  
The next thing she knew a large hand wrapped around her shoulder and was pulling her to the side. She let her body fall into him, his chest broad and warm beneath her cool cheeks. A shuddering breath left her and the floodgates seemed to open. This time Hermione didn't stop herself, she let herself cry, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open in a silent scream as her body shook.

"It's alright, kitten, just let it out," his voice was a low rumble that seemed to seep straight through her bones as his other arm wrapped around her and held her tight against him. Hermione cried until her eyes were raw and dry and her head throbbed. That was it. The fact that Helen and Richard Granger would never come home was finally sealed for her and she let her last thread of hope disappear with the final tear that fell from her lashes.

The material of Sirius' shirt felt cold beneath her cheek and as she cracked open her tired eyes she could see that the sky had begun to darken. She felt suddenly ashamed for blubbering all over the man at his own welcome home party. Letting out a hiccuping breath, she pulled away and pressed her hands against her flushed cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," she said, her voice raw. She glanced over at his shirt, her shoulders slumping at the sight of his damp shirt. "I think I've ruined your shirt."

"Shut up, kitten. I have more shirts and you needed to get that out of your system," he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "But, I think a Calming Draught would do you some good. Maybe a slice of that chocolate cake I saw on the counter."

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly. Of course, chocolate would fix everything. She wiped away the last of her tears and looked up at him. "I suppose," she said with a nod. Letting out a breath, she watched as it became a thin white puff in front of her. It was growing colder, and quickly. Maybe a cup of tea would be good as well. "I look terrible, don't I?"

The older man shook his head, his long black hair fluttering around his shoulders, and gave her a wide grin. "Not even possible, kitten," he replied.

She wanted to contradict him, to tell him about how thin she was in the lead up to the Final Battle, to show him all of the scars she'd garnered. But she didn't. Instead her eyes just narrowed and her mouth quirked slightly. "That's bullshit, but I'll take it."

He laughed, this time letting the sound carry into the growing dusk. Bending down, Sirius picked up her discarded butterbeer and clutched it in a hand along with his glass. "Whatever you say," he said as he slung an arm lazily around her shoulder and guided her back inside.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**_Suggested Listening: 'Bones' by MS MR_ **

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been nothing short of chaos since Sirius and a handful of Aurors and Order members returned from abroad, wanted Death Eaters in tow. Hermione found herself grateful for it all and was more than happy to bury herself beneath a mountain of statements and depositions with a multitude of quills holding back her mass of hair. This was what she wanted. She wanted ink stained fingers and the opportunity to set the world to rights again. And, Morgana, she was going to do it come hell or high water.

"Mione?"

Ron's voice pulled her from her latest highlighting spree and she rolled her chair back from her desk. "Hello," she greeted as she craned her neck around a stack of paper.

"Bloody hell. How do you even move in here?" he asked, a grin lighting up his face as he flopped down in the one chair that she purposely kept cleaned off for guests. She couldn't help but be amused as she watched him try to work out whether or not he could put his boots up on her desk. He decided it was a lost cause and instead balanced his ankle over his knee in what she'd always thought of as a singularly masculine gesture.

"Quite easily, actually," she replied as she tossed her highlighting quill aside and propped her elbows up on her desk, her chin cradled in her ink covered hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, hmm?"

Ron shrugged, his grin fading in an effort to look innocent. "Can't a bloke come and see his best mate every once in a while?"

"Of course. But you want something, Ronald Weasley. I don't even need to use legilimency to figure that out."

Shifting in his chair, he let out a huff and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can a right pain in the arse, you know that?"

A smile curled over her lips. "So I've been told by various members of this department multiple times. Spill it."

He glanced over his shoulder at her open office door and nodded to himself. "Right," he began as he uncrossed his long legs and scooted his chair as close to her desk as it could. Hermione's brow arched as she watched him. Apparently this was going to be something he would refer to as hush, hush.

"This is hush, hush, Mione," he whispered as he fixed her with an intense gaze. Not for the first time did she regret showing him old Muggle spy films. "Harry is going to propose tonight."

Kicking back in her chair, her legs flailed and one black pump fell to the floor before she pressed herself up against the edge of her desk. A quill slipped from her hair and fell to the desk and some of her wild curls flew free once more, but she didn't care in the slightest. "When? Where? Details, Ron, I need details."

His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he rested his arms atop her desk. "Grimmauld Place, eight o'clock. She thinks it's a late get together for her birthday," he replied. He looked smug, clearly enjoying his role as conspirator. "Mum is already beside herself."

Hermione decided not to think about Molly Weasley in that moment. Once that ring was on Ginny's finger the matchmaking would pick back up again in earnest. She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I can't believe he's waited even this long. I have expected him to have had the ring on her hand before she and I went back to Hogwarts."

Ron just shrugged. "Dunno. I suppose he just wanted to get settled in. Get used to a world like it is now. He asked Dad's permission and everything. Hell, he even spoke to me and the rest of my brothers. Honestly, I can't believe he didn't send a bloody letter of intent."

Letting out a low whistle, she eased back in her chair. "Harry barely wrote letters while we were in school, I can't see that changing for anything. Even your sister," she gave him a wry smile. "So, eight o'clock?"

"Eight o'clock," he nodded.

"Of course I'll be there."

*

This was not a mistake, she told herself over and over again as she watched her best friend slip a delicate ring onto the finger of the girl he loved. This was a wonderful, happy moment and they all deserved it. Harry deserved it. But that familiar itching feeling was coming over her again as her friends cheered and offered their congratulations. That feeling that she needed to run, that it wasn't safe. Where were the exits? She couldn't see them. Breathe, Hermione. Breathe.

A warm hand settled over her wrist and she jumped, her eyes almost impossibly wide as she looked up only to see Sirius standing beside her.

"Easy, kitten," he murmured as he carefully pried her fingers free from the fist she'd clenched them into. "Why don't we step outside for a bit? I could use a smoke."

She gave him a nod and he led her out of the overcrowded drawing room. The halls of Grimmauld Place were still dark but in the years that Harry and Sirius had taken up residence they no longer seemed oppressive. The fact that the House Elf heads had been removed helped immensely. Hermione found herself staring at the damask wallpaper as she followed along after the older wizard and the further they got from the noise and crowd the more relaxed she began to feel.

The September air was cool and it was only when they stepped into the back garden that she realized she'd been sweating. She felt so weak in that moment as he gently tugged her down to sit beside him on the steps, and she hated it. Hermione Granger was not weak. She knew that was true, the trouble was that she just felt so bloody lost and that feeling of control was so hard to keep a hold of.

"Stop it," Sirius said, breaking the silence as he placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. The metal lid of the lighter clacked shut and he shoved it back into the pocket of his jacket. For a moment she found herself staring at the leather, the way it was worn and soft at the elbows and shoulders. It was probably older than her.

"Stop what?" she asked, her voice small.

He took a drag, smoke billowing from his nose seconds later. "Thinking. I swear I can hear the gears in your head from here, kitten," he replied as he turned his head to look down at her.

Hermione let out a hum as she plucked the cigarette from his fingers and placed it between her own lips. Smoking was a disgusting habit but that knowledge didn't stop her from taking a puff anyways. "Does it get better?" she asked as she passed the cigarette back. He had nice hands, she noted, long, slender fingers with just the right amount of roughness.

"No fucking clue," he replied honestly. "Some days are alright, then some are like hell. The trick is trying to find something to ground you. Help you breathe."

Eyes closing, she let her head lean against his shoulder. The smell of smoke and leather clouded her senses and she found herself trying to memorize it. "Some trick," she muttered. "I used to think that work would ground me, and maybe it does every now and then. I even thought that maybe Harry and Ron would, but I can't...I can't do that. I can't do that to them."

Sirius was quiet as he flicked away the ash at the end of his cigarette. With his free hand he pulled out the side of his jacket and wrapped it around her, tugging her closer to his chest. "I know, kitten," he said and she knew that he meant it. She suspected that he'd clung onto the memory of James for so long that he'd tried to ground himself with Harry. But he couldn't, not when he realized that they were separate beings and that no matter how much he wanted James to be there again he wouldn't.

Hermione couldn't imagine it, losing a friend as close as that. The thought alone was enough to make her breath catch in her throat and it had often played a part in her nightmares. She pressed herself closer to the wizard. It was the cold, she told herself. Or maybe it was just the need for human contact.

"Have you found it? Something to ground you?" she asked as she held her hand out.

"No, not yet," he replied as he placed the cigarette between her fingers. "I think my bad habits are rubbing off on you, kitten."

She let out a soft snort before taking a short drag and handing it back. "It's always about you isn't it, Black?"

He laughed as he flicked the cigarette away. "You know it, Granger,"

The corners of her mouth curled up into a smile as she opened her eyes once more. "I think I prefer it when you call me kitten," she said as she watched the orange light of burning paper and tobacco slowly burn out.

"I think I do, too, kitten."

Harry had found them a little while later, the odd pair huddled together on the back step with a few discarded cigarette butts at their feet. Hermione vaguely wondered what he was thinking but it somehow didn't seem important, especially not after she'd stood and pulled her best friend into a hug.

"I'm so happy for you, Harry," she said as she balanced on the toes of her shoes, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

"Thank you, Mione," he replied as he gave her a squeeze. Pulling away he settled her back down on her feet and held her at arms length. He was scrutinizing her, looking her over as if she was physically hurt. "Too loud in there?"

She nodded. "Just needed some air."

His gaze cut over to his godfather. Sirius had gotten to his feet and was leaning back against the porch's cast iron railing, his posture oozing a sort of aristocratic air that it seemed only a Black was capable of. Some sort of silent communication seemed to pass between the two of them and the older wizard gave his godson a small nod.

Clearing her throat, Hermione stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself. She suddenly missed the warmth of Sirius' jacket, and the body beneath it. "I think I'll go and put the kettle on. It's bloody cold out," she said with a small smile.

Sirius gave her a smile in return. "Go on, kitten. We'll be along in a bit."

Glancing between the two of them, she nodded and slipped back inside. The warmth of Grimauld Place quickly seeped inside of her and for a moment she just stood there, eyes closed, as she waited for her shivering to subside.

"You got her out, didn't you?" The sound of Harry's muffled voice on the other side of the door drew her attention. She stood stock still in the hall, her gaze fixed on the brass door handle. Sirius must have nodded because she didn't hear a reply until Harry's voice broke the lull: "Thank you."

*

It would never really heal, she known that almost as soon as the blade had touched her skin. Her fingers curled and uncurled themselves, the tendons beneath her skin flexing with the movement. The letters were still an angry red, the color a sharp contrast to her pale skin. It was a constant reminder of what she'd survived. Not just the torture, but the prejudice as well- for the most part at least.

Dropping her arm down to her side, she grabbed her robe from its hook and tugged it around herself before stepping out of the bathroom. Stream followed after her as she padded over the thick carpet to her wardrobe. Part of her didn't want to do this, to sit in a cavernous courtroom and give her testimony. But it was a step. A step forward and maybe, just maybe, it would lessen the nightmares she had.

In the weeks since Harry and Ginny's engagement Hermione had managed to keep herself quite busy at work. Trails seemed to be happening daily and the paperwork never seemed to cease. The hectic pace was good, she had decided, and it kept her mind occupied. It all seemed to be a big lead up, though, and she tried and tried to put off the inevitable for as long as she could.

Antonin Dolohov would sit before the Wizengamot in a few hours and she would be called to the witness stand. She'd often heard it said that you never forget your first kiss, the same could easily be said for your first battle scar. The jagged line that crossed her torso and stretched up to her shoulder had been the result of that man's curse, a curse that was nameless and seemed to be of his own creation. Morgana, she'd only been sixteen years old.

Mouth set into a thin line, she shoved aside garments in her closet in an effort to find something suitable to wear. What was appropriate when witnessing against a tall prick who seemed to follow her around during the lead up to the Second Wizarding War's climax? Certainly not pastels.

The sound of the Floo activating in the other room drew her attention and she tossed the somber gray wrap dress she'd been holding onto the bed. She pulled the robe tight around her and cinched it close as she made her way down the hall. Crookshanks came from, seemingly, out of nowhere and ran past her, nearly knocking her over. The half Kneazle's excitement could only mean one thing.

"Morning, kitten."

Arms crossed beneath her chest, she leaned in the door way. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked as she regarded him with a small smile. For a moment he just stared at her, his shoulders slowly relaxing as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. This was the first time she'd seen him in something other than jeans, she was sure of it, and she could easily admit to herself that she could get used to the sight.

"Seems I'm your date for the day," he replied as he rocked back on his heels. "Harry is on Azkaban escort duty, so he asked me to go in with you."

Hermione nodded and pushed her still damp curls back from her face. Harry was making sure she didn't run. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as her annoyance began to rise. Of course she'd be there, she was a key witness after all. Magic crackled around her and she closed her eyes as she tried to breathe.

A moment later she felt his hands on her, smoothing over her terry cloth covered arms. "Easy, kitten," he murmured and she was sure that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "None of that now. Come on, you need to finish getting ready and I'll make you a cup of tea, yeah?"

"Yeah," she breathed, her tongue darting out over her suddenly dry lips. "Yeah."

Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he gave her a gentle push towards her room. She let her feet simply carry her on and she knew that he was watching her. Whether it was because he was concerned or if it was something else she didn't know. The truth was that she didn't want to get her hopes up.

*

**_A big thank you to starrnobella for being amazing and betaing this chapter for me. And thank you, yes you, for taking time to read this story. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think as I'd love to hear from you all._ **

**_Xx_ **


	3. Chapter 3

Suggestd Listening: 'Save Yourself' byt Claire de Lune

*

Despite the number of people that had assembled in the courtroom it was still bloody cold. Or at least she thought it was bloody cold. Casting a warming charm on her bare legs, she pulled her charcoal gray robes around her and shifted slightly closer to Sirius. Perhaps it was an Animagus thing, but he always seemed to radiate heat. She heard him snicker softly beside her and his leg pressed against hers as he angled himself towards her. 

At the end of the First Wizarding War the popular way to bring in prisoners for trial was to confine them into what she'd thought of as a stripped down version of an iron maiden. It was horrendous and barbaric and it was one of the first things she fought to have removed when she'd come to work for the DMLE. This was the twentieth century for Morgana's sake, they could put the barbarism aside. Even for Death Eaters. The light had won, after all, might as well show it.  
She kept her face carefully neutral as Harry and a team of Aurors escorted Antonin Dolohov to the dock that sat in the center of the room. Magic kept the Death Eater's arms confined to his sides and his gait was stiff as he moved along; whether that was from an old injury or a new one was something she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

It was as though the man knew she was watching him and he turned sharply to look at her. Hermione stiffened in her chair and she swore that she could feel the scar on her torso burning beneath her clothes. Dolohov's gaze had not lost that madness she'd seen when she first encountered him in the Department of Mysteries. What she could only assume was a smile curled over the man's face revealing yellowing teeth. What would he have been like, she wondered, if he had made different choices? Would he have been kind, or even handsome? It was a useless train of thought and she knew it.

Sirius's hand smoothed over her wrist and he took her small hand in his own. She clung to him, her fingers lacing with his as he gave her hand a squeeze. This was grounding, she realized then and it shocked her. This was what it felt like to be held in place, to be kept from falling off the edge that she so often felt herself teetering on. Hermione let out a ragged breath and squeezed his hand in return before she pulled it over onto her lap and cradled it in her free hand, her fingertips tracing idle patterns over his tattooed skin.

*

Not long after the trial commenced she came to the conclusion that it was one of the most draining experiences of her life. She sat with her hands clutching Sirius's for what felt like days listening to witnesses give their testimony and be questioned until they looked exasperated. After a while she began to tune it all out, not wanting to think about all of the things that the man restrained in the dock had done over the last few decades. It was enough to turn stomachs and not for the first time did she wonder just what would have to happen to a person to make them reach this point.

"It's time to go, kitten," Sirius whispered in her ear. Her gaze shot up to the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, their eyes on her. Hermione felt the color drain from her face as she realized that her name had been called. "Go on now, love. It will be over before you know it."

He gave her hand one final squeeze before letting go and she slowly stood and made her way around the bar. Harry caught her eye as she settled down in the witness stand and gave her a reassuring smile. Counting each inhale and exhale, Hermione struggled to center herself as she waited for the questions to begin. Dolohov was making it difficult, though, so very difficult as he stared at her with a look that could only be described as feral.

The Minister cleared his throat as he looked down at her and Hermione tore her gaze away from the accused. Kingsley's voice was rich and seemed to fill the entire chamber without much effort at all and the Minister only looked at her with kindness as he asked his questions. She seemed to find herself then and she answered with poise, her words matter of fact and straight to the point. It was a bit like pulling off a bandage, quick and almost painless. Sirius was right, it was all over before she knew it.

Once dismissed she forced herself not to scurry as she made her way back to the vacant seat next to Sirius. Dolohov's eyes followed her the entire time and she found herself swallowing a whimper as she sat down again. Her hand was soon wrapped up in Sirius's as he pressed close to her, whispering that she did exceedingly well and that it was almost over and then he'd take her home and make her a large cup of tea. Hermione mutely nodded as she counted her breaths again.

Around them a sense of trepidation seemed to settle over the Wizengamot and those seated in the gallery. Antonin Dolohov stood, Aurors on either side of him, and was escorted up to the stand. She wanted to crawl under her seat now that she was in full view of him, but she forced herself to sit up straight, her chin tilted up defiantly as she silently dared him to make her feel small.

If anything the Death Eater was calm as he answered the questions posed to him and there was no hint of shame in his voice. He didn't plead that he'd been Imperioused or anything of the like. This was a man who was proud of his actions and didn't care who knew it.

"We have reason to believe that Voldemeort promised you something in return for your years of service. Is that true?" Kingsley asked, the sound of his quill writing away filling the brief moment of silence.

The Russian wizard nodded, the gesture verging on lazy. "Yes."

"And what was it that you were promised?"

Dolohov's gaze bore into her and she watched as his dry lips slowly curled up into a smile. "The Mudblood. She was to be mine."

The sound seemed to have faded from the room. Hermione could no longer hear the sound of Kingsley's quill scratching against parchment. A pounding began behind her eyes, the ache making its way around the back of her head and down her neck and a moment later it occurred to her that she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She was vaguely aware of Sirius tensing beside her, his larger body angling itself in front of her as if to shield her. His action seemed to amuse Dolohov and she watched as the man throw back his head and laughed.

"I would have taken her no matter what." The dark wizard's voice almost seemed muffled and she found herself shaking her head. No. No, he wouldn't take her. She fucking refused.

There must have been something in her stare, the way she held her body, that seemed to sober the man up. The laughter stopped and Dolohov's eyes narrowed as he stared at her. Her defiance made him angry and that knowledge made her lip curl slightly.

It was only when it was too late that she realized that his lips were moving, forming silent words as he stared at her. Something hard hit her square in the chest and her breath was knocked away as she felt herself falling backwards. A second later everything was black and she was sure she'd heard Sirius call her name.

*

When Hermione regained consciousness the first thing she could hear was arguing. Not the loud wall shaking kind of arguing, but the hissed variety that's only done when the party involved doesn't want anyone to hear. Somehow she found it more annoying than the loud kind and she groaned. "Will you shut it," she said as she pressed her fingertips to her temples. Morgana, her head was pounding.

There was a brief moment of silence before she found herself surrounded on all sides. Cracking open her eyes, she stared up at the faces of Harry, Ron, and Sirius. Somehow she wasn't surprised at all.

"Hey there, kitten. How are you feeling?" Sirius asked, his voice at a soft, respectable volume.

"My head is going to explode," she replied, her words clipped as she raised a hand to shield her sensitive eyes from the light. "What on earth happened. Am I...am I in St. Mungo's?"

"Yeah. Dolohov knocked you out," Harry said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

It took her a moment to process this information. Then it all came back to her, the courtroom and everything that the Death Eater had said on the stand. She let her head fall back against the pillows and she let out a sigh. "Runes."

"Runes? What the hell is she on about?" Ron said from the foot of her bed. "Should I get a healer?"

"Shut it, Ronald, I don't need a bloody healer," she snapped. Though, a pain potion wouldn't be amiss. "The stand needs to be redesigned. Why on earth didn't I think of inlaying runes to prevent wandless magic? Morgana, they're probably going to try and bring back that horrid contraption now. I need to get to my office."

"Oh no you don't," said Sirius. His large hand curled around her shoulder and gently pushed her back down against the hospital bed. "You're on leave. Minister's orders."  
"But the trial-"

Harry interrupted her. "Is over. He's been sentenced to Azkaban for life. I put him in his cell myself."

Hermione closed her eyes and covered them with her hands. A sense of relief washed over her and she let out a breath. She didn't want to think about that man's face, the way he looked at her, or what he implied would have been her fate if Voldemort had been victorious. Would the nightmares stop, she wondered as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, would she finally be able to rest?

Swallowing thickly, she looked up at her boys once more and let her hands fall to her stomach. "How long is my forced vacation?" she asked, her fingers absently tracing over the scar beneath her dress.

*  
Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos. They mean the world to me.  
Xx


	4. Chapter 4

Suggested Listening: Lullaby by The Cure

*

The world was tinged purple. She hated purple. Around her the walls moved, folding over themselves as she continued on. What concerned her now was that she didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to run. Blood pumped in her veins and banged against her temples as her lungs began to burn, her hurried steps out of rhythm with the symphony in her mind. She needed to stop, needed to breathe and find herself.

Knees aching, she skidded to a halt and bent over as she tried to slow her breathing. She counted each inhale and exhale, just as she'd been told, no matter how shaky and shallow they were. That was when the walls jerked around her, pulling back into the darkness as if they'd been tugged by unseen ropes. Panic began to set in and her heart beat accelerated as she looked around with wide eyes. She knew where she was then.

Purple seemed to flash around her like lightening and she jumped, her mouth going suddenly dry. She froze, her breath stolen from her as pain rippled through her. Every nerve ending was on fire, pulsing beneath skin and muscle as her body crumpled to the floor in a heap. The only conscious thought she had was that this wasn't supposed to be happening, not any more.

The scream that ripped through her throat woke her and she shot up in her bed. Chest heaving, her hands gripped the soaked bedcovers that were now tangled around her. Hermione forced herself to look around, her neck stiff as she turned to and fro. "One wardrobe, two bedside tables. Three windows. Four pillows. Five photographs," she whispered to herself, pausing only to reverse the order and then repeat them back again.

After what seemed like hours her breathing began to even out and her muscles relaxed. It was all just a dream, a bloody fucking dream. Her hands shook as she pushed the hem of her soaked nightshirt up her stomach. Even in the dark of her bedroom she could see the purple line and it made her hate the color all over again.

The corner of the mattress dipped down and Crookshanks slowly ambled towards her, his squished face somehow managing to convey concern for his witch. Holding her hand out to him, he pressed his head up against her palm, nudging it gently before moving to lean against her side. The simple affection from her familiar made her burst into tears and the creature let his mistress bury her face in his thick fur and sob.

*

There was plenty that she could be doing, but that knowledge wasn't enough to motivate her. She'd stumbled around her flat leaving a trail of open books and scraps of parchment filled with notes and half completed Arithmancy notes in her wake. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to distract her mind or keep her hands from shaking. The truth was she was tired and her bones ached and life just felt like too much to try and deal with.

Covers pulled up around her shoulders, Hermione stared at the far wall. She should eat something, change clothes and take a shower, fix the crooked picture frame on the wall. As soon as those thoughts came into her mind she argued against them and continued to lay there. Her tears had dried on her cheeks, though a few still trickled from the corners of her eyes. It surprised her that she even had any tears left, but then her hands would violently shake and she'd begin to sob all over again.

She had only been vaguely aware of the progression of time, and she couldn't seem to find it in her to cast a simple Tempus charm. Shadows began to stretch out over her bedroom walls as the sun rose in the sky and she figured that it had to have been past noon. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she sighed and turned to press her face into the mattress.

"Kitten?"

Hermione didn't move from beneath her pile of blankets and couldn't seem to remember if she'd heard her Floo activate or not. There was always the possibility that she was imagining things, but when she felt his hand in her hair she knew it wasn't that. She heard him sigh and shuffle beside the bed before she felt the heavy dip in the mattress.

She hated her own weakness all over again as her body trembled and he pulled her close. Swallowing thickly, she tried not to dwell on the fact that she knew he could feel her, or that her face was blotchy from all of the tears she'd shed.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" he asked as his hand gently brushed her curls back from her face. When she just nodded he pulled her closer, her small body almost on top of his as he held her close. "A little something on your stomach will help with the tremors. I can fix you some toast if you want, love."

"Alright," she replied, her voice raw from tears and screams and lack of sleep.

His hand combed through her hair, the pads of his fingers pressing into her scalp. Hermione let her eyes close again and she could feel her body begin to relax against him. Maybe it was the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear or his hand in her hair that worked to set her so at ease. Either way he was making it difficult to move.

It was almost as if he could sense her dilemma and he shifted beneath her. Carefully, he pulled her up with him and tucked her hair back behind her ears. The smile he gave her was small, but was his eyes that held her attention. When Sirius Black looked at her there was no pity, concern surely, but certainly not pity. The realization was almost jarring.

"Why don't you go freshen up a bit, yeah?" he suggested as his hand found hers and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll be right outside and you can take as long as you like. I'll wait for you."

*

What had started out as a mission to wash her face and clean her teeth had led to a full shower. Though she hadn't trusted her legs to keep her up, she was more than content to sit on the shower floor while hot water poured over her skin. When she finally emerged her bathroom was filled with steam and she was sure that she felt almost human, even more so after she'd brushed her teeth.

Dressed in an oversized knit jumper and a pair of leggings, Hermione shuffled down the hall towards her sitting room. Sirius was still there, as he'd said he'd be, sitting on her sofa with his long legs sprawled out in front of him and Crookshanks curled up on his lap. He looked up when she came in the room, a smile spreading over his lips.

"Feeling a bit better?" he asked as he nodded towards the empty space beside him on the couch.

It was all too easy to curl up beside him, her feet tucked beneath her as she leaned against him. She pushed her damp hair back from her face before pulling the sleeves of her jumper down over her fingers. "Yeah. A bit," she replied, not trusting herself to say any more in that moment. There was something about him caring enough to pull her up out of her own bed and take care of her that made her want to cry all over again.

"I believe I promised you toast, but you seem to be out of bread," he said, chuckling as he heard her groan. "Hush you, I've got it taken care of. How does takeaway sound?"

"Fattening," she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting up into a smirk. "But, I think I can eat a bit."

"A bit is all I ask, kitten."

Silence settled around them and she found that she was more than content to sit there curled up beside him as her familiar purred up a storm. Her fingers curled around his wrist and pulled his hand over to rest on her lap. It was so easy to be pulled in by him, to want to study his every movement and she had readily allowed herself to be pulled in by his gravity. How was it that one man could hold such endless fascinations, she wondered as her fingertip trailed over his knuckles and the lines of his tattoos. There was a small part of her mind telling her that she ought to pull away, to sit over in her chair, but she didn't move, not even an inch.

She found herself mesmerized by the black around his fingernails, no doubt the remnants of engine grease that had refused to be washed away. His hands were rough and calloused, everything that an aristocrat's shouldn't be, but they suited him so perfectly. Her mind couldn't help but recall how his fingers had felt in her hair earlier and how she wished he would do it again, and maybe even give a little tug. The thought made her blush.

"I've been working on my bike," he said and she was certain that his voice was an octave lower than before. "Maybe I'll take you for a ride soon."

Hermione sat up just enough to look him in the eye. "No way in hell, Sirius. There is no way you're going to get me onto that thing. You know I hate flying."

"So I'll just put a Sticking Charm on your arse." He gave her a wide grin and she elbowed him in the ribs.

"No."

"Aw, kitten. Don't commit just yet. Not when I'm willing to sit through whatever film you pick out while we eat. Hell, you can even paint my nails and tell me what juicy gossip you've picked up from the Ministry."

She couldn't help it, she laughed. Her eyes screwed shut as she tossed back her head and pressed her hand briefly to her mouth. "I don't have any black polish," she said after she'd calmed down.

"That's alright. I'm not opposed to red."

*

Hermione never got around to painting his nails, but she did eat more than she thought she was capable of before curling up next to him again after selecting an old James Bond film. The trouble was that she didn't remember much beyond seeing the body of a naked woman covered in gold paint. Not sleeping much the previous evening and the state that she'd been in for the majority of the day had left her completely exhausted.

Consciousness came back to her slowly, urged on by the feeling of his fingers moving through her hair. "Wake up, kitten," she heard him say, his voice soft over the repetitive din of the dvd menu.

Opening her eyes, her brows knit themselves together in confusion. Somehow or another she'd ended up with her head in his lap and Crookshanks curled up on the side of her hip. It was not, she decided, the worst way to wake up.

"What time is it?" she asked as she wiped the sleep from her eyes.

Sirius gave a quick wave of his wand and the time floated in front of them for a moment before disappearing without a trace. "Dinner time apparently," he replied as his fingertips rubbed small circles against her scalp. "You still have some soup left, kitten. You want me to reheat it?"

Shaking her head, she shooed Crookshanks off of her and slowly sat up. "You don't have to do that. I've already taken up too much of your day," she replied, her fingers picking at the hem of her jumper as she tried to get her eyes to focus.

"Hey," he said as his hand curled over her shoulder and turned her towards him. "Don't do that. Don't let yourself think that you aren't worth spending time with. I happened to like sitting here with you all afternoon. I'd do it again tomorrow if you'd let me."

For a moment she just sat there, her eyes searching his for some sort of hint that he was just saying all of that to be polite. But all she could see was his sincerity, even when the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile. Swallowing thickly, Hermione finally nodded. "I'd let you, Sirius."

His smile widened and he wrapped one of her curls around his finger before giving it a gentle tug. "Maybe we'll get around to painting each others nails then."

*


	5. A Sirius Interlude

Suggested Listening: 'Running Up That Hill' by Placebo

* 

It was as if a hand had reached deep inside of him and wrapped its cold fingers around his organs only to pull them roughly. The breath was knocked from his lungs as his body was pitched forward. Opening his eyes seemed to be a useless gesture so he kept them tightly shut as his body moved through the darkness he had found himself in. It was viscous, clinging to his skin and tearing through his hair as though it hated the thought of letting him go. But nothing could stop him from moving and more than anything he wanted to scream. 

His body met the cold stone of a floor, skidding across the surface like a rock over a pond before coming to a halt. The sound of his own heartbeat suddenly crashed in his ears, jarring him. His lungs burned as his breath came back and he gasped in an effort to fill them with air. 

Smell seemed to bombard him, his senses heightened by the animagus alter ego that lived inside of him. It was too much all at once; the musty smell of the room, the dirt that had settled between the cracks of the stone, even the smell of his own sweat mixed with something that he couldn't quite place assaulted him. His stomach clenched and he felt the burn of bile as it traveled up his throat. He didn't stop the onslaught as his body saw fit to expel everything that he'd ever consumed, he didn't even stop the tears that streamed down his cheeks from the pain that coursed through his tense muscles. 

Chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, he tried to push himself up. His arms and legs trembled, a tingling static trailing up them from both strain and disuse. It was only as he fell to the side, rolling away from the mess he'd made, that he noticed the slick liquid that seemed to coat his skin and soak through his clothes. This was what was trying to keep him in that place, trapped in that darkness that kept him from breathing, from seeing. He hated it and he wanted to burn it off of his skin, anything to cleanse him from its touch. 

A sound to his left caught his attention. The archway stood as it always had, the nonexistent breeze ruffling the torn and threadbare material of the veil. It all seemed to come back to him then and the sound of echoing curses and jinxes seemed to swirl around him. But it was the whispering that was the loudest, drowning everything else out with its unintelligible intonation. With what little strength he had, he pushed himself further away, holding onto the hope that the further he was from the damned thing then the safer he'd be. 

The whispers grew shrill, near deafening, and his arms gave way beneath him. His hands shook as he pressed them against his ears in desperation and his eyes screwed themselves shut. But as soon as it started, it stopped and the room fell into silence once more. Body sagging, his hands fell away from his head and he let himself stare up at the ceiling. He was tired, so very tired, but the thought of falling asleep terrified him. After all, this could all just be a dream. 

Consciousness began to slip away from him, his eyes rolling back in his head and his jaw going slack. The last thing that Sirius Black heard before fading completely was someone him above him exclaiming: "What the actual fuck?" 

*

The next time he opened his eyes he was assaulted by bright light. For a moment panic seized him and he couldn't help but think that this was it, this was really his end. The thought faded when an overly chipper healer leaned over to ask how he was feeling. Apparently his reply of 'fuck off' was a suitable enough answer. 

As healers and various other Ministry employees buzzed around his room, poking him with the tips of their wands and muttering incantations, he began to wish that he'd just stayed asleep. But in that moment, sleep seemed to be a step too close to death for his comfort. So he choked down potions and laid still as scans were run, all while tuning out what was being said about him as though he wasn't there. He could see the fear on some of their faces, the curiosity that marked their features as they tried not to openly stare at him. ‘Yeah’, he thought bitterly, ‘I'm Sirius Black and I'm fucking terrifying. Tell that to the drapery.’ 

On the list of things that he was not prepared for watching Kingsley Shacklebolt enter his room after being announced as the Minister for Magic was certainly near the top. He was hyper aware of the muscles in his face moving as his brow knit together and his mouth pulled into a frown. The realization that he'd spent more time in that darkness than he'd ever imagined ran over him like ice crawling over his skin. 

He hated that the past two years were being explained to him as though her were a child and he tried to keep in mind just how much respect he had for the former Auror in front of him as he gritted his teeth. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he could do nothing to stop the hot tracks they made down his cheeks. By the time Moony was mentioned he'd had more than enough. The world had been shit before his cousin had stunned him and knocked him back, now it was hell. The light had won and Sirius was sure that he'd never been more angry. 

Sirius let himself scream. His magic flared around him, lashing out in waves as grief washed over him. Nothing was said and no one touched him. They let him wail and cry and curl into himself as his body slumped over. Face pressed into the mattress, he cried until his voice was raw and his face ached and even then it didn't seem like it was enough. 

* 

He hated that so much time had been lost. First the years in Azkaban, and now this. It made him age too much and not at all, and it seemed to be all at once. 

Stepping back into Grimmauld Place again had been jarring. It looked properly lived in, despite the darkness that still clung to its halls and stairwells. For a moment he simply stood in the hall, staring up at the banisters as they curled upwards towards the attic, and tried to remember when the place had felt this warm. Hands scrubbing over his face, he made his feet keep moving, following the stairs down into the kitchen. 

Nothing Kingsley could have said would have prepared him for the sight before him and he found himself choking back a sob as Harry Potter looked up from where he sat at the table. The roundness had faded from his face and in that moment Sirius swore that he looked exactly like James, his face angular beneath a mop of hair that would never be tamed. His godson didn't say anything as he stood from the table, his chair scraping across the floor, and made his way over. 

Sirius just stood there and held the boy as they both cried. No, he reminded himself, Harry wasn't a boy anymore. It struck him then that he was now the only one who was to alive to see it, to see the chubby baby who used to grab Padfoot's fur tight in his grubby fists grow up to be a man. The injustice of it all seemed to hit him again as he held his godson a little tighter. 

* 

Adjusting to a world without war and evil around every corner had been nothing short of a struggle. Gone was the need to ask security questions to everyone that popped over for a visit and the need for so much damn secrecy. Now it was Harry and Ron coming in exhausted after a long day at the Auror academy as they all counted down the days until Hermione and Ginny were home for their hols. The feeling was normalcy was nothing short of foreign. 

Maybe it was that he didn't deal with change very well, he thought to himself on more than one occasion. Then again, maybe this was a world he simply didn't belong in. All he knew how to do was fight against evil, railing against it with all of the Gryffindor recklessness that was inside of him. There was nothing to drive him now. No revenge, or justice, or retribution. He hated it. 

His frustrations had been taken out on his own room on more than one occasion and it scared him that waking up in a pile of debris with a bottle of firewhisky clutched in his hand was becoming a habit. His sleep was troubled and there were nights that he wondered if the silencing charms he'd put up were strong enough to muffle his screams. There had to be an end, to be some sort of change, but the trouble was figuring out just what it was. 

* 

By the time that first Christmas rolled around he was no closer to pulling himself out of the pit that'd he'd thrown himself into. But, he tried. Fuck did he try. He hung wreaths and sprigs of holly all over that damned old house of his just as the girls, home from Hogwarts, had instructed him. There was a sense of contentment, he found, as Hermione trailed after him charming small lights to hide in the boughs of greenery. Maybe it was a start. 

If asked, Sirius Black wouldn't have been able to tell when he'd ever had a proper Christmas in Grimmauld Place. Perched in a corner chair of the sitting room he found himself watching in amazement as Harry and Hermione passed around presents still dressed in their pajamas like children. It was certainly high on the list of things he'd never expected to see and he quietly sipped the cup of hot chocolate that had been handed to him as he continued to watch, his gaze unfocused. 

Only when a package was placed in his lap did he look up, pulled from wherever it was that his mind had taken him. It was wrapped simply with brown paper and a crimson bow. He hadn't expected anything, at least not this big, and he found himself staring up at Hermione Granger in confusion. 

"It isn't much," she said as she rocked back on her heels, her fingers twisting together in front of her. 

"It's big," he pointed out as he set his cup aside. Seeing her watching him in anticipation made the corner of his mouth twitch as he carefully pulled the bow away. The brown paper soon joined it on the floor and he stared at the record player that now sat on his lap. The same record player that he’d destroyed weeks ago during one of his rampages, and he swore that now it looked just as good as it had when he’d first bought it. 

"I had it fixed," she said, her voice carrying that anxious quality that came with wanting approval. "It was, well, it was a mess and I know it isn't much. But..." He shook his head, stopping her before she could ramble on anymore. 

"It's perfect. Thank you, kitten." Her shoulders instantly relaxed and the smile that spread over her face was so bright that for a moment he thought it would blind him. Part of him wished it had. 

Bouncing on her feet, she turned and grabbed something else from behind the tree and held it out to him. For the first time in what felt like forever he laughed, truly laughed, and pulled the ribbon off of his new copy of Led Zeppelin IV. 

* 

Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos. You guys are amazing and each notification means the world to me. This story, along with my Remione one shot 'The Scent of Magic', has been nominated for an award in the Shrieking Shack Society's Marauder Medals 2016. 

The voting form can be found [here](http://shriekingshacksociety.weebly.com/). I'll also reblog the link on my tumblr page [here](http://rowenahillblog.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow me as that is the best place to get in contact with me. 

Cheers! Xx


	6. Chapter 6

Suggested Listening: Dust Hymn by Purity Ring

*

There was a small part of her brain that seemed to delight in reminding her that she was a failure. Some days she found herself listening, and was quick to agree with the assessment as she sank inside of herself. But then there were those days where she told that little voice to stuff it, that she didn't have time for such nonsense. On this occasion she wasn't in the mood to listen to it no matter what it said.

For a brief moment she allowed herself to be swallowed up in green light, the heat-less flames curling around her as her body was pulled through the channel. Soot and ash tickled her nose as she stepped out of the hearth and she couldn't help but give a little sneeze. Floo travel wasn't her favorite, but it was certainly better than Portkey.

Shifting the strap of the bag on her shoulder, she tugged the end of her sleeves down over her still trembling fingers. It would fade in a few days, it always did, but it was still more than bothersome in the meantime. As it would happen, that was the reason for her impromptu visit to Grimmauld Place. Well, one of them at least.

"Hello? Anybody home?" she called out as she made her way through the sitting room and into the hall.

Her feet took her naturally towards the kitchen, her steps muffled by the new runner that ran the length of the hall; Ginny's doing no doubt. When it came to the stairs that lead down into the basement kitchen. Hermione had to swallow her pride. Leaning against the railing, she carefully made her way down, taking each step two feet at a time like a child. If she hadn't been completely concerned with her dignity she would have just scooted down on her bum, but that was most certainly not going to happen. At least not while sober.

"Hello," she called again, pausing at the bottom of the stairs for a moment. Going down stairs was easy, but she had the feeling that going back up would be a bit more taxing. Hermione's shoulders slumped and she shook her head. She was a witch, for Morgana's sake, she could just apparate if it came down to it.

"Kettle's on!" Was the reply she received as she rounded the corner.

Harry and Sirius sat at the well worn kitchen table, its surface nearly white after who knows how many years of being scoured and scrubbed. She loved how none of the chairs matched. Years of Order meetings had meant that chairs were pilfered from other rooms in the house and swapped around. The effect was that what could have been a stuffy old kitchen in a large and foreboding house was instead warm and welcoming.

"Good. I could use a cuppa," she said as she dumped her bag in a nearby chair and rolled her shoulder to work out the kinks.

"Honestly, Mione, Featherweight Charm," Harry said with a shake of his head. There was no way, she decided then, that he'd brushed his hair already. Its wildness rivaled her own hair and was vaguely terrifying.

"Honestly, Harry, who do you think I am?" she scoffed before moving around the table to press a kiss to his cheek. "Of course there's a Featherweight Charm on the ruddy thing. Doesn't change the fact that my muscles are stiff."

She didn't miss the look that passed between her best friend and his godfather. No doubt Sirius had informed him of the state she'd been in. The issue wasn't pressed and that was something she was glad of. Even still, she kept her fingers hidden beneath the sleeves of her jumper.

Maneuvering around Harry's chair, she gave Sirius a kiss on the cheek and settled down in between them. "When's the tea ready?" she asked, hoping to keep the conversation away from her week's rough start for as long as possible.

*

She'd insisted on doing the washing up herself, no magic involved. It was the hot water, she decided, that felt good over her hands and eased the muscles that continued to spasm. Lips pursed, she stared down at her hands as she kept them submerged in the soapy water.

"Sirius, would you mind grabbing a quill and a bit of parchment from my bag? I need you to write something down for me," she said as she glanced back at the pair from over her shoulder.

"Mione, I could write it for you," Harry offered. The fact that he looked a bit put out amused her.

"Yes, but your handwriting is atrocious." Hermione didn't even bother to hide her grin as her best friend crossed his arms in a pout.

Sirius let out a soft snort as he pulled out the quill and parchment as instructed. "What makes you think my handwriting will be any better, kitten?"

"I've seen it. Now take this down will you? Cruciatus. Hydro-therapy, question mark. The symbol, don't just write out question mark. Hot water or heating charm. Question mark after that as well. Got all that?"

The quill continued to scratch against the parchment. "Yes, kitten. Symbols included," Sirius replied before setting her quill aside.

"Wonderful. Can you read it back to me, please?"

"'Cruciatus. Hydro-therapy? Hot water or heating charm?' What the hell is Hydro-therapy?"

"Muggle thing," she replied. Her mind continued to whirl as she pulled the plug from the drain and dried her hands. Heat really did seem to help, the trembling wasn't nearly as pronounced and she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't considered something like that sooner. "I don't even know if they're still in use," she added as an afterthought.

"Thinking out loud, Mione?" Harry asked. She could hear the smile in his voice before she saw it and for a moment she felt as though things were almost normal, that she really wasn't as broken as she thought she was. 

She shrugged. "The hot water helped my hands," she said, holding them up so they could see the trembling. "It's better than it was earlier."

As soon as she saw Harry's smile falter she dropped her hands once more, her fingertips hidden behind the bottoms of her sleeves. But it was the look Sirius gave her that took her aback, nearly unnerving her. It was as if a mask had slid into place rendering his gaze unreadable. That was when it occurred to her that he knew, he really knew what it was like to tremble like she did without an ounce of control. She found herself wanting to run to him and wrap her arms around his shoulders, but she didn't. She couldn't, not at that moment.

"Which, in an oddly round about way, brings me to why I just barged in unannounced," she said, forcing a smile on her face as she sat down at the table once more. Reaching out, she slid the piece of parchment closer to her, pleased that Sirius had written down everything she'd said, and that it was legible. She eased back and turned her attention to Sirius. "I was wondering if I could have use of your library."

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a lopsided grin and the mask fell away. "You know you don't have to ask, kitten."

Hermione sniffed. "It's the principle of it. I'd rather not be rude unless it's necessary. Which brings me to something else," she paused for a moment, her fingertip tapping lightly against the corner of the parchment. "I was wondering if perhaps you'd be able to help me take some notes, Sirius?"

"Oh. I see how it is. Just because my handwriting's shit I'm not worthy of being your own personal quill," Harry said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "Fine. I'll just go to work then, shall I? They don't criticize my penmanship there."

Even with trembling hands the sugar cube that she'd plucked from the bowl and lobbed at his head met its mark. "Shush you. Go be a twat at the office. I've got Arithmancy equations to work through and Runes to suss out."

Letting out a snort, Harry tossed his head, the movement further messing up his black hair. Part of her wanted to get up and smooth it down, but she knew it'd be useless. It was part of his charm really, and Hermione knew that she wouldn't want to change that for all the galleons in the world.

"You do know how vacations work don't you, Mione?" he asked, his gaze turning suddenly serious. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Today was going to be a good day, she was determined of that, and she didn't need Harry's overprotectiveness to smother her and push her in the wrong direction. It was wrong to blame him, a fact that she immediately felt guilty over, and she quickly tried to shove those thoughts from her mind. 

"Leave her alone, son," Sirius said, pulling her from her thoughts, and she shot him a grateful look. "She wouldn't be our Hermione if she wasn't working on something."

*

The Black Family Library was one of her favorite rooms, almost matching the library at Hogwarts. For a moment she just stood there and breathed in the smell of old leather and parchment. She could feel Sirius move behind her, his own scent of leather and tobacco mingling in with that of the room as he cast a quick Incendio on the logs in the fireplace.

"Alright, kitten," he said as he turned to face her, the orange light of the fire dancing over the planes of his face as he grinned at her. "Where do we start?"

A flick of her wand saw her few books and scraps of parchment spreading out over a nearby table. "Well, I need to devise a new set of runes to have set in the defendant's seat in the Wizengamot. Something to keep a prisoner from using wandless magic," she explained as she bent over her notes and shuffled things around.

Magic swirled around her as she thought, the strands of her hair standing on end before curling over each other and winding over and under until a messy sort of bun formed on the top of her head. Without even thinking she shoved a spare quill in the mass and turned back to the man she'd roped into helping her. 

He was staring at her. Her brows furrowed as she tried to read him. It wasn't that his mask was back in place, but it was something. Something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It made her stomach flutter and she bit her bottom lip. Perhaps it was just her imagination. "Sirius? Are you alright?"

Letting out a breath, he gave himself a shake before nodding. "Fine, love," he replied before clapping his hands together. "I think I know exactly where we should start."


	7. Chapter 7

Suggested Listening: Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

*

It was not uncommon for Hermione to commandeer several inanimate objects to use to hold back her mass of hair. That day was no exception. Two quills had found their way into her curls as well as a very dull letter opener. There was a small part of her that wondered if she ought to invest in some hair ties, or something of the sort, but she could never really be bothered to make the effort. This habit seemed to amuse Sirius who had taken to flicking the quills anytime he was near her just to see her scramble to make sure her hair wasn't falling out of place.

His nearness should have been disconcerting but, despite the somersaults that her stomach insisted on doing, it wasn't. He followed after her as she moved from bookcase to bookcase, taking the notes she dictated and pulling down the books that were out of her reach. Every so often she'd become aware of him watching her as she sat stooped over a large tome, her brow furrowed in concentration as she mindlessly chewed on her nails. What did he think of her, she wondered. What did he see when he looked at her with her shaking fingers and inability to sit still?

Pushing her own self conscious thoughts aside, she heaved a sigh and reached for the communal pack of cigarettes that had been left on the table. She didn't even want to think about how many they'd gone through that morning, though using Walburga's good china as an ashtray did give her a smug sense of satisfaction. It was a hideous pattern anyway. The packet crumpled in her grasp, the cellophane crinkling loudly. The damn thing was empty. "Bugger," she muttered.

Sirius moved beside her and plucked the packet from her hand before staring into it as if he could make more cigarettes materialize. Hermione wondered if that was even possible, but they'd probably taste like shit.

"Well, kitten, we seem to have run out of our vice," he said as he tossed the empty pack into the bin.

She groaned. "It's too early for firewhisky. So there's one vice we still have."

He let out a snicker. "No day drinking then?"

Hermione tilted her head back to look up at him, an amused smile curled over her lips. "Not today, no," she replied. "I could run around the corner to the shop and get another pack or five."

Sirius was quiet for a moment and she watched as he idly scratched at the stubble on his chin. Not for the first time did she wonder what that stubble would feel like against her own skin. He shook his head. "I think we need a break, kitten," he told her with a decisive nod. "How about we both go out?"

"I really don't think it takes two people to go round the corner for some ciggies," she pointed out.

Looking down at her, her grinned and she couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of apprehension. Carefully he began to pull the quills and letter opener from her hair and her unruly mane tumbled down around her shoulders. "Who said anything about round the corner?" he asked as he wrapped one of her curls around his finger.

*

Hermione wanted to throttle him. In fact she had imagined her throttling him several times now since he'd cajoled her onto his motorbike. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist and her face was pressed against his back, the quidditch goggles he'd found for her digging uncomfortably into her cheekbones. Since they'd launched into the sky she was certain that she expanded her vocabulary most colorfully, and she knew that he'd laughed at her more than once.

Blood pumping in her ears, she opened her eyes only to stare at the back of his leather jacket. She didn't want to think about how high up they were, invisible as Muggles milled about on the safe ground below. At least, she thought ruefully, that this was better than flying on the back of Hippogriff. But she wasn't going to tell him that. For a moment she tried to focus on how warm he was as she pressed herself against him, and how she could get used to it. She wouldn't tell him that either.

The bike gave a little jolt as the tires touched pavement and she braved looking up. Well, this certainly wasn't London, she noted. The road they'd found themselves on wound upwards, the curves often dangerously close to the cliffs they skirted. Over to the side the sea stood, dark and undoubtedly cold. It was beautiful.

He eased them into a local car park and switched off the engine. As she sat back she realized how stiff she was, no doubt the result of her body tensing up during the ride. Letting out a breath, she pulled her goggles off and rubbed at her face. How on earth did Quidditch players function wearing these bloody things, she wondered as she let the strap dangle off her finger.

"Alright, kitten?" Sirius asked as her twisted around to look back at her. His long hair was windblown and disheveled and without even thinking she reached up to push it back from his face. There were marks from his goggles on his cheeks as well, she noticed.

"Long way to come for some cigarettes," she said with a wry smile.

He just grinned and pushed his head up against her hand. "I think it'll be worth it."

*

They walked side by side down the uneven pavement, Sirius blocking the nonexistent traffic on her right side. She supposed that if one were to squint just right it would look as if they were on a date. Her jaw clenched briefly as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. It was best if she not think of things like that, she decided.

Of course that was when he pulled her hand out of its confinement and hold it in his own. Damn it. The thing was that she couldn't pull away, let alone fault him for his action. It was as if touching him was a necessity, and she wondered just when that had happened. Letting out a breath, she eased closer to him and rested her cheek against his leather covered arm. It was probably best not to think too much of this either. The way things were going she wouldn't have much to think about at all and that worried her.

Sirius came to a sudden stop and let out a soft noise, all of which caused her brow to furrow as she looked up at him in confusion.

"Come on," he said with a wide grin as he squeezed her hand and dragged her along.

The next thing Hermione knew they were standing inside a small, cramped shop that was filled with records from floor to ceiling. She couldn't help the smile that curled over her lips as she stared up at him. He was like the proverbial kid in a candy shop, nearly bouncing on his toes before pulling her through the narrow aisles. It struck her then just how rare it was to see him like this, the grin on his face reminiscent of the one he'd had when she gave him his refurbished record player. She wanted to see more of it, the trick was just figuring out how.

It was so easy to get caught up in it all with him and she soon found herself picking through the records herself. He already had a good pile going and she didn't think anything about adding to it. Their musical tastes had often mirrored each other, a fact that had astonished him, and it certainly made things easier knowing that music would always be their agreeable fallback.

"Fleetwood Mac, kitten?" he asked as he picked up the copy of Rumors she'd added to their cache.

Hermione shrugged. "I like Stevie's voice. My parent's met a Fleetwood Mac concert," she replied, her fingers busily picking through another box.

Sirius didn't say anything as he set the record back down on the pile. It took her by surprise when she felt him kiss the top of her head a moment later. "Rhiannon is a good song," he said softly and she smiled.

*

It wasn't until after they'd eaten their fill of chips that they finally bought the cigarettes that they'd originally stepped out for. He gripped her hand tightly as he helped her down the slick, steep steps that wound down to the beach below. If it wasn't for him keeping a hold on her she was sure that the wind would have blown her away, but she found herself laughing anyways. When was the last time she'd ever laughed at nothing, she wondered as they neared the bottom. For a moment she paused as Sirius stepped down to the pebble beach, her hand pushing her windswept curls from her face.

"Come here, kitten," he said as he grabbed hold of her waist and helped her down. She could have stayed like that, just standing there with the heat of his hands seeping though the material of her clothes, his body shielding her from the wind. But it would have been silly to do that, or at least that's what she told herself as she ducked her head and slipped her hand into his.

They were careful as they picked their way down to the shoreline, the dark pebbles smooth beneath the soles of their shoes. At some point he'd laced his fingers with hers and she felt a stupid grin trying its damnedest to spread over her lips.

"You had to drag me all the way to the sea just for a pack of cigarettes," she said as she let go of his hand and climbed up on top of a nearby boulder. As she settled down she couldn't help but notice that she was at equal height with him, maybe even a bit more. Funny how it took a rock formation to achieve such a feat.

He fished the pack in question out of his back pocket and tore it open. There was something voyeuristic about watching him place a cigarette in between his lips and light it. She tried to tell herself to look away, that the sight of his mouth tightening around the filter wasn't reason enough to send heat surging up between her legs. But she didn't look away, and heat had blossomed despite herself.

Smoke billowed from his nose as he handed the cigarette over to her. "We needed some air, and this is as fresh as it gets," he replied with a lopsided grin.

Hermione let out a hum as she took her own drag. One day she'd give this up, one day she wouldn't need the taste of tobacco on her tongue and in her lungs. But this wasn't that one day and she had the feeling that said day was far off in the future. Right now she was sitting on a beach with a vice between her lips and Sirius Black standing in between her legs and she couldn't decide if it was heaven or hell, especially not with his eyes fixed on her mouth.

It was her imagination, she told herself as she handed the cigarette back and turned to stare at the sea. He wasn't staring at her like that, after all why would he? They were just friends. They understood each other, they could read each other, and that was enough. Wasn't it?

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Nothing," Hermione replied as she turned her head just enough to look up at him.

"Liar," he said as he flicked away a bit of ash. His free hand had come up, his fingers twisting one of her curls.

"I'm not in the habit of lying unless it suits me."

He let out a soft huff and she could have sworn that she heard him mutter something about Slytherin. "Does it suit you now then?"

She didn't answer. What was she supposed to say? That she'd been trying to figure him out, or wondering just why she felt so compelled to seek him out - or vice versa. Gods, it'd be easier to let him just read her mind, but the damn thing was so dark and messed up that she was afraid to let him in. The thought made a lump rise in her throat and she struggled to swallow it.

Sirius let out a sigh as he pressed the cigarette in between her fingers and leaned forward until his forehead rested against her shoulder. Her hand shook as it came up to her mouth and she couldn't work out if it was the lingering effect of her episode or something else entirely. It didn't stop her from inhaling and stubbing it out a moment later, the extinguished butt disappearing into nothing. How long could they stay like this, she wondered as she let her cheek rest on top of his head.

Her body froze as he lifted his head up, the end of his nose moving up the line her of her neck before he stood upright once more. It was a fluke, it had to have been. Broken things didn't warrant attention, and she was so very broken.

It took her a moment to register the feeling of his mouth against hers, his hands gently pressed against her cheeks, and it was only when he began to pull away that she responded. There was something in the back of her mind that seemed to click and her heart hammered in her ears. The kiss was short, almost tentative, and she wondered if he was as scared as she was. She wondered if he'd felt the same surge of electricity that she had.

"I want to apologize for that," he said, his gaze boring into hers. Had his eyes always been that dark? "But I'm not going to."

Hermione nodded. "I wouldn't want you to," she replied truthfully as she let out a shuddering breath, her shoulders hunching as she shivered.

Sirius slipped off his jacket. "You're freezing," he said as he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Hermione let her body slump forward, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. She breathed him in as he pulled her close, his fingers threading through her hair. Leather and smoke and the sea. It was heady and she let herself becoming lost to it as she listened to his heart pounding in his chest.

"I'm not anymore," she said and he kissed the top of her head.

*


	8. Chapter 8

Suggested Listening: Close My Eyes Forever - Device ft. Lzzy Hale

*

There were often times when she'd seen something on telly and had immediately had the thought that she'd never do something as stupid as the characters in the program. She'd tell herself that she would go about things differently and use the cool logic and intellect that she prided herself on. But that was telly and the world that she lived in was vastly different. 

That was how she found herself, sitting in the middle of a cold, gray room with a man that she'd hoped to never see again. In that moment Hermione Granger felt just like one of those stupid characters on telly and it irked her. The trick now was not letting him see her mental backpedaling as she tried to remind herself that this was a necessary evil.

What made it worse was the blatant amusement on his face, the way his dark eyes roved over her in such a shameless way that made her skin crawl. There was a part of her that wanted to push past the barriers she could feel in his mind to see just what drove him, what had caused this obsession to grow in him like a virus. For a moment she swore that she could her mother's voice beside her: "Curiosity killed the cat, darling." Be that as it may, she thought as her lips pursed, satisfaction brought it back and she didn't plan on leaving this little room until she was indeed satisfied.

"Did you miss me, little witch?" he asked, his voice rumbling, deep and dripping with a Slavic accent. If she were a different person in a different world she was sure she'd find it attractive, but instead it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

Hermione didn't smile, she didn't even flinch, as she regarded him. Leaning back in her chair, she let her fingers drum lightly on the surface of the table between them. "Not in the slightest," she replied, forcing her chest to fill with every ounce of her Gryffindor bravado. 

He laughed, the sound rasping in his throat, and she couldn't help but wonder just how long it had been since he'd done such a thing.

Dolohov leaned forward. "I think you're lying," he hissed as his shackles scraped against the floor. Hermione eyed the iron that looped around his wrists and flowed down to his ankles. It didn't look dissimilar to what he'd worn during his appearance before the Wizengamot and her lips pressed themselves into a thin line. The fact that she really was putting herself in danger with this private visit seemed to hit her then.

"You're entitled to your opinion, Mr. Dolohov, that doesn't make it correct," she said with a dismissive sniff. Maybe she should have allowed one of the guards in with them, she thought, but then she wouldn't have been able to be so candid. "Why me?"

The former Death Eater leaned back in his seat in what she surmised was a fair attempt at an imitation of Lucius Malfoy. Unfortunately for Antonin Dolohov the effect wasn't quite the same, he was too stiff to really portray the languid aristocrat. "Why not?" he countered and she rolled her eyes. 

"I never took you to be stupid, Dolohov. Evil and mad, certainly, but never this deliberately obtuse," Hermione sighed. "To ask for me as a war prize denotes more than just a passing fancy. I daresay you've had it in for me since our encounter in the Department of Mysteries."

He merely shrugged. "You were supposed to die, yet there you sit."

"Good thing for me you were silenced then," she said as she crossed her arms beneath her chest. "Still, it isn't something I'll likely forget, even if I have experienced worse."

Something in his eyes flashed and she felt a small sense of satisfaction at the realization that she was getting a rise out of him. "If you had heard the words you would have been consumed. Fire would have surrounded every cell in your body, incinerating them until you were numb and pliable to my touch."

She forced her face to remain neutral despite the bile that rose up in her throat. "Surely a simple petrificus totalis would have accomplished the same thing. I get the impression that you weren't even trying."

That did it. Antonin Dolohov sat across from her and fumed. Slowly, she stood and made her way over to a small table against the far wall to pour herself a glass of water. This was why she'd wanted to be alone with him, she needed the opportunity to turn her back on him and he predictably took it.

Even with iron clamped around him, he was able to demonstrate a good deal of dexterity. The glass that was in her hand fell to the floor and shattered as he pinned her against the wall. His breath was hot and rank against her skin and she turned her head away, brazenly showing how much he repulsed her. 

"You would have died once I was through with you, little Mudblood," he said as his mouth moved over the line of her neck. She could feel his arousal pressing against her hip and she swallowed a whimper, even as he shoved her legs apart with his knee and his hands replaced his mouth around her throat. "Though I would not have finished with you for a while. Not until I'd pulled that curse through your bones over and over again, scorching you from the inside out. Not until I'd fucked you and made you scream. I could do it now, you stupid girl, even with my hands bound. I could rut against you until you were torn in half."

His hands began to squeeze, pressing against the tender skin of her throat. The pressure steadily increased and she struggled to breathe as her airway became constricted. Eyes watering, she choked out as many breaths as she could, but it only made him squeeze harder and she was sure that she could feel her skin bruise. That was when she felt his erection again, rutting against her pelvis, and she let out a strangled cry. 

Hand gripping the wand hidden in her robes, she thought one simple word, screaming it in her mind as dark spots began to appear at the corners of her eyes. Stupefy!

Antonin Dolohov flew back from her, his body crashing into the meager table and chairs. Every breath she took hurt as she coughed and inhaled, anything to get air back into her lungs. "Incarcerous," she all but whispered and she couldn't help but watch with satisfaction as his body was encased with rope.

She stumbled forward and dropped down beside him, heedless of the look he was giving her. Her hands found his and she jerked them towards her until the iron cuff were free from the rope. With the tip of her wand, she began to carve, her lips moving as she mumbled to herself. 

"What are you doing?" she heard him ask and for a brief moment she wondered if she was frightening him. That idea alone was enough to make the corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile.

A moment later she stood back and stared down at him before flicking her wand and whispering Finite. Dolohov scrambled to his feet and clutched the leg of the overturned table. His gaze moved between her and the still closed door as he waited for guards to storm into the room at any second. But the door didn't open and Hermione watched as a cool rage seemed to bubble inside of him.

"Do it. Push me back like you did before the Wizengamot," she said, her shoulders squared as she stared him down. This was it, the moment that would either prove her theories correct or send her back to the proverbial drawing board with yet more bruises. But she braced herself and she waited. Antonin Dolohov was angry, visibly angry, and she knew he'd lash out eventually.

But nothing happened and the look on his face melted into something akin to disbelief. His brows furrowed and he seemed to try again. And again. And again, but to no avail. Finally, he let out a scream of frustration and turned his wrath on the table, shoving it away from him.

Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, Hermione calmly transfigured it into a scarf and wound it around her neck to hide the bruises that she could feel forming beneath her skin. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Dolohov," she said as she turned and rapped on the door, signaling her wish to leave. "It's been most enlightening."

*

She was certain that she was running on pure adrenaline as she stared out over the Thames, her body shaking as she raised a cigarette to her lips and lit it. Inhaling deep, she held the drag in and let the smoke fill her lungs until it burned. Was this what it felt like to exorcise a demon, she wondered as she breathed again. But then, how did she know if it was really gone? Would her dreams of purple light be replaced by memories of his hands around her throat, squeezing as he ground against her like a dog? Hermione screwed her eyes shut and she forced herself not to think about it. 

Adjusting the scarf around her neck, she took another long drag and watched the flow of the dark water and the way it lapped at the passing cargo ships. Her rune combination had worked, she reminded herself, and now all she had to do was speak with a Curse Breaker about properly implementing it. There was a sense of satisfaction that came over her then, and she realized that her curiosity was well and truly sated. Funny, though, how she still didn't quite feel like the cat who ate the canary.

There was still that damn scar that wound around her, the constant reminder of what that man had tried to do to her. Smoke billowed from her nose in an angry huff. It wasn't just that, not now that she knew what he wanted to do to her. For a moment she swore that she could feel him against her hip again and it made her stomach churn. It was in the past, she told herself. No matter how many nightmares she had, that man would not be able to get anywhere near her ever again. 

The cigarette fell from her fingers and she stubbed it out with the heel of her shoe. Move on, she told herself, try and forget. 

*

After the day she'd had all she wanted was to come home to her cat and a large cup of tea, then work until she couldn't see straight. It wasn't quite the best plan in the world, but it would do. Green flames surrounded her as she stepped through the floo of the Leaky Cauldron and out of her own fireplace. 

Of all the things she expected to see three large, and rather angry looking wizards hadn't even registered as a possibility. Yet, there they were. Even Crookshanks looked irritated from where he sat curled up on Sirius Black's lap. Bugger.

"You know the funny thing about paperwork, Mione?" Harry asked, his green eyes following her as she quietly hung up her bag and coat. "It has a tendency to come back to you. Now, I don't remember signing a document that gave you unsupervised access to Antonin Dolohov, yet it seems I did."

She didn't say a word as she crossed her arms beneath her chest and leaned back against the mantle, her scarf still in place.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" asked Ron, his voice raising an octave by the end of his question. The tips of his ears had turned a violent shade of red, rivaling his hair. Morgana, the last thing she needed was to deal with his damn temper.

When she didn't answer right away Harry surged to his feet. Her best friend towered over her and she watched as emotion played over his face, flickering back and forth between concern and anger. "The interrogation room was in shambles when you left, that's what I was told. Broken glass and overturned tables. Funny thing, none of the guards were able to enter until you left. Why is that, Mione? What the fuck happened in there?"

Her mouth has pressed itself into a thin line as she glared up at him. Stepping away from him, she kicked off her shoes and did her best to ignore all of the men in her life as she sought out a bottle of firewhisky. Sod tea.

"For fuck's sake, Mione. Say something!" Ron's sudden outburst made her jump and she turned to face them. 

Hair practically standing on in, she stared them down, not caring in the slightest how much they had on her as far as height was concerned. She yanked the scarf away from her neck and tossed it aside, the material reverting back to a simple pocket handkerchief. Her throat was bruised and horribly so, she'd seen it herself in the lady's lavatory at the Leaky, and it was no doubt more than skin deep. "It's a bit hard at the moment," she said in an angry whisper.

Several things happened all at once: Ron swore loudly and kicked her sofa, much to her immediate displeasure; Harry turned away from her, scrubbing his face with his hands, and she could hear him muttering under his breath, though she wasn't sure just how much of his tirade was directed at her; Crookshanks leapt from Sirius' lap in a flurry of fluffy anger and Hermione soon found herself the object of the man's intense scrutiny.

The closeness of him sent her mind back to that pebble beach, the way his body felt pressed against her, the feeling of his lips on hers. He hadn't kissed her since that day and she hadn't brought it up. She could be content with him sitting next to her, playing with her hair, or holding her hand. Kisses weren't necessary for survival, or at least that's what she had tried to tell herself. 

His fingertips were gentle as they carefully tilted her head back. Hermione watched him from beneath her lashes, her heart pounding in her chest as his touch ghosted over her battered skin.

"Why didn't you heal this?" he asked as his eyes met hers. His gaze was hard and she could feel him trying to keep his anger in check.

Her own ire was quickly rising and she swallowed thickly, ignoring how even that hurt. "I was going to," she rasped through gritted teeth. "But that was before I found myself interrogated in my own home."

"Don't Hermione. Just fucking don't," Harry interjected, his finger pointed at her as he fixed her with a thunderous stare. 

Rolling her eyes, she pushed Sirius' hand away, her own gentleness shocking her. "You fucking don't!" she said, the volume of her voice rising and straining her vocal chords. "I did what I had to, what I needed to, and I am fine."

Ron kicked the sofa again. "Like hell you are! You can't even talk. You clothes are a mess and you're shaking!" 

"Stop kicking my furniture, Ronald!"

Was she really shaking, she wondered, were her clothes a mess? The truth was she didn't want to look down at herself. She didn't want him to be right. Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes and she looked away from all of them, fixing her gaze instead on the windows, hoping that the lingering sunlight would burn away the tears before they fell. 

Pulling her wand from her robes, she summoned a small vial and uncorked it. She could feel their gazes on her as she placed the tip of the vinewood against her temple and pulled away a swirling, silvery strand and tucking it away in the glass. Thrusting the vial into Sirius's hand, she stepped away. 

"Leave me alone," was all she managed to whisper before she disappeared down the hall and into her bedroom, her door slamming closed behind her.

*

There was nothing stopping her from throwing up silencing and locking spells, but she didn't bother and perhaps she was just too tired to care. Stripping out of her clothes, she ignored her reflection and stepped into the shower. The water was hot against her skin and she finally let herself cry as she scrubbed at her skin until she felt raw. Maybe, she thought, maybe it would be enough to get the feeling of Dolohov off of her. Gods, if she could have obliviated herself she would have.

By the time she faced her reflection her skin was a bright shade of pink and it only made the bruises stand out all the more. Nose wrinkled in disgust, she pulled out a small pot of dittany and gingerly smoothed it over her skin. The marks would heal, she told herself, talking would cease to be painful and she would be alright. If there was anything that Hermione Granger was good at then it was surviving everything that was thrown at her. In the meantime, she told herself that it was perfectly alright to cry.

Her boys were still there when she finally padded back out into her sitting room, and it seemed that none of her furniture had been kicked about. There was a small part of her mind that wondered if she ought to be self-conscious as she stood there in a pair of Harry's old pajama bottoms and a tank top that had seen better days but, in the end, she couldn't bring herself to care. 

"Are you all done being angry with me?" she asked, her voice still barely above a whisper.

“It depends,” replied Harry from where he sat on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the tops of his legs. “Are you done doing stupid things?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered. Throwing up her hands, she turned on her heel and moved into the kitchen. 

It seemed that she was back to her original plan of wanting tea and she switched on the kettle. She could have boiled the water in an instant, but somehow that simple charm seemed like an almost Herculean task. So she let the thought go as she set about rummaging through the cabinets for the pain potion that she knew she had somewhere. Slamming a cabinet door shut, she let out a shaky breath and tried to tell herself to focus.

Someone moved behind her and she tensed immediately. Then the smell of smoke and leather reached her and she relaxed, her eyes closing as she swallowed. She could feel the heat from him seeping through her, warming her still damp skin, and she didn’t even fight the impulse to turn and bury her face in his chest. It surprised Hermione that she didn’t cry as he held her. Maybe it was just that her eyes were too damn dry and her body too damn tired, either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

“I can’t find the pain potion,” she said, her voice muffled by the material of her his shirt. For a moment she could have sworn that he laughed as his arms tightened around her.

“I got it out while you were in the shower, kitten,” he said, burying his nose in her wet hair. “It’s in the other room.”

Sirius held her until the kettle began to boil, then he shooed her away with the promise that he’d bring her tea out in a moment. She could have pouted at him then, complete with protruding lip, but he didn’t even give her chance before pressing a kiss to her forehead and pushing her out the door.

Harry was in the same place she’d left him in, with Ron slumped back against the sofa beside him. She could feel the both of them watching her as she shuffled across the room and curled up in her chair, pulling a blanket around her as she settled down. Crookshanks, it seemed, had forgotten whatever irritation he felt towards his mistress as he jumped up and made himself comfortable on her lap. Maybe this was a good sign, she thought as she scratched her familiar behind his ears, maybe the men in her life were no longer irritated with her. As much.

“I need to talk to Bill,” she said, her weak voice breaking the silence. “He’s the best Curse Breaker I know and think he’d be able to help me design what the Ministry needs.”

Ron nodded, though he couldn’t seem to bring himself to speak. It was probably for the best, Hermione reflected. He’d always needed ample time to get his temper back under control.

“Was there really no other way for you to test this out?” Harry asked, his hands spread out in front of him as he looked at her imploringly.

“I’m sure there was,” she replied with a shrug, ignoring the way her best friend’s eyes narrowed at her response. “But I needed to be able to get close to him, not just get a rise out of him. I figured that would be difficult with guards hanging about. Or you. Besides, it wasn’t just about the runes.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed as though he was trying to come up with the best way to argue the point with her. She watched in fascination as realization dawned over his face and he stared at her with concern, his remaining anger seeming to melt away. “You did it to find out what curse he used on you.”

Ron seemed to perk up at that and he sat up.

“I was multitasking,” she said.

Sirius emerged from the kitchen with a full tray. He’d even managed to find a packet of biscuits, she noticed. She didn’t even know she had biscuits. Before she could even ask about the mysterious snack he had pressed a vial of pain potion into her hand. Giving him a grateful look, she downed it quickly, pulling a face at the aftertaste. Surely there was a way to improve that; she added that thought to her ever-growing mental list of things to do.

The tea was much, much better and it was exactly the way she liked it. Maybe once she would have thought that odd, the fact that he knew she preferred two sugars and a squeeze of lemon, but now it didn’t seem to make a difference. Her eyes followed him as he collected his own cup and a biscuit and settled down on the floor in front of her chair. She didn’t even think twice as her hand shot out and began to thread through his dark hair.

Harry regarded her for a moment with an arched brow; Ron looked as though he wanted to say something but had thought better of it. She shook her head at both of them as she sipped her tea. One thing at a time, she told herself. One thing at a time.


	9. Chapter 9

Suggested listening: 'Leather and Lace' by Stevie Nicks ft. Don Henley

The bathwater was quickly becoming tepid. She should have cast a warming charm, or have at least turned the hot water knob. As it was, she did neither and simply sat there staring at the ends of her hair as they floated over the surface of the water. She was vaguely aware of Crookshanks pawing at the door, a simple alohomora would have solved that problem. But that required effort and effort was something she found herself in short supply of. 

Days like this had become infrequent and she had allowed herself to become used to the feeling of normalcy. Then it hit her, even before she managed to crawl out of her bed, that sinking feeling latched onto her like tether hooks and pulled her further and further down until she found it difficult to breathe. The fact that she'd made it into the bath at all had been a miracle, the trouble now was convincing herself to get out again.

An old familiar thought came to her, the one that told her it would be so easy to just let her body slide back against the porcelain until the water covered her face. It would burn her lungs, she thought, the feeling of the water pouring in. But how was that different than smoking a number of cigarettes she did? 

Hermione let out a strangled cry, the muscles in her throat straining beneath the sound. It hurt, her voice still weak from the grip Dolohov had had on her. No, she told herself fiercely as she scrubbed her face with her hands, she wasn't going to allow herself to think like that. She had not fought so hard only to drown herself in a bathtub. There was a small, spiteful part of her mind that seemed to take joy in telling her that dying in a bathtub wasn't romantic in the slightest, never mind original.

"Fuck," she muttered as she lunged forward and ripped out the plug. The water swirled down the drain, the sound of it echoing in the small, enclosed room. There went the temptation, at least for the moment, but that thought was neither comforting nor sobering.

By the time she'd pulled herself out of the empty tub and wrapped a robe around her, she'd talked herself out of going. She'd send an owl to Harry and close off her Floo. It would lead to him, and most likely Sirius and Ron, banging down her front door. But, somehow, that sounded better than the alternative of showing up at the Burrow where she knew the cacophony of sounds would drive her further over the edge she'd woken up teetering on. They were just going to have to deal with it, she decided. Besides, her bruising had yet to fully heal and dittany could only do so much.

Opening the door, Crookshanks immediately wound himself around her ankles as she made her way into the sitting room. Hermione did precisely as she'd decided she would: she wrote to Harry and closed her Floo. Part of her wondered if she should make a wager as to how long it would take before someone was knocking at her door, but she decided against it. Instead, she switched on the kettle and went back into the bedroom to change into some warm pajamas. Tea and sleep, she told herself, that was what she needed and she didn't care that it was a lie.

*

There had been no banging on her door, no blasting the thing off its hinges, and everything had been blessedly quiet. She'd been asleep when the dip in the mattress beside her woke her. Even in that state between sleep and consciousness, she knew the body beside her certain wasn't Crookshanks, especially since her familiar was still curled up on the pillow beside her head. That was when she caught the scent of smoke and leather and she let her body roll back until it was pressed against him.

"Molly sent over a rather large plate of food," Sirius said, his voice soft as his arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her to his chest. "It's on the counter with a stasis charm whenever you want it."

Hermione kept her eyes closed as she let herself melt back into him, her fingers lacing with his as they laid there. There was no pressure, she realized, no pressure to eat and move about like someone normal and for that she was profoundly grateful. "I'll have some in a while," she said after a moment. "I haven't seen you in a few days."

Sirius pressed his face into her clean curls and she could feel his lips press against her scalp. "I've been taking care of things that I've put off for too long," he explained. "I suppose I had to grow up sometime."

"I don't think you'll ever grow up. Not completely. Besides, I wouldn't want you to."

She felt him laugh, the soft rumbling in his chest reverberating through her. "What do you want me to do then, kitten?"

Hermione turned in his grasp and pressed her face against the crook of his neck. She couldn't help but breathe him in, letting him fill her lungs in a way that didn't burn; if anything it just went straight to her head. Her lips brushed against his warm skin and she felt him tense briefly before his hand smoothed down her waist to settle on the curve of her hip. "Stay in bed with me. Hold me and let's forget the world," she replied.

"I can do that."

*

It was so easy to lay there next to him, his heartbeat keeping a steady rhythm in her ear as his thumb rubbed idle circles over her hip. She wasn't sure if she slept, there was a part of her that was afraid to even let herself drop off just in case this turned out to be a dream. It was possible that she may have dozed, however. Maybe.

At some point, he'd kicked off his shoes and Hermione stretched herself out, her bare toes resting against the tops of his sock covered feet. She imagined that he was smiling but she didn’t tilt her head back to look up at him, instead she found herself content to let him pull her closer. There was a part of her that wanted to pull off the clothes that covered them, separating them from skin on skin contact. It was what she needed, but it was something that she dared not ask for.

His hand began to smooth over her hip, the heat of his palm seeping through the material of her leggings. Slowly, his hand began to move higher. It slipped beneath the hem of her shirt and up over her bare skin. His callouses lightly scratched at her, but she didn’t care. Truth be told, she could barely think as the heat of him seemed to cut right through her. Her breath hitched as she tried to imprint the feeling in her memory. She was still awake, wasn’t she? Gods, she hoped so.

Hermione tilted her head back then and her gaze met his; she was very much awake. His eyes were dark, even in the dim light of the room, and the intensity of them was almost startling. There was a part of her that was sure that she should look away, press her face back against his chest and feign sleep. But she couldn’t and began to realize that she didn’t want to.

“Why haven’t you kissed me?” she found herself asking, her mouth leading the charge while her brain struggled to catch up. “Since that day on the beach.”

Sirius was quiet, his brow furrowed as he stared down at her. She could feel each one of his fingers as they pressed into her. There was something about the gesture, the way he silently pulled her closer, that made her swallow thickly. For a moment she wondered if he was struggling not to let her go and it occurred to her then that perhaps he needed to hold on to her as much as she needed to hold on to him. 

“I don’t have a good answer. It’s inexcusable, really. I should have been kissing you every moment I could since that day, but I’ve failed spectacularly at that. Can you forgive me, kitten?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Slowly, she nodded. “I’ve forgiven you for a lot of things, Sirius Black, and I can forgive you for that.”

The corner of his mouth lifted up into a smile and his hand moved higher up, resting between her shoulder blades. “That’s good because I intend on making up for my error right this second.”

*

The cafe was small, quaint, and quiet, but even its charm couldn’t distract her from thinking that the look on Harry's face was nothing short of skeptical. Truthfully, she couldn't blame him. How many times had she told him that she was fine, and how many of those times had she been lying through her teeth? Even she didn't want to answer that question.

But she carried on, squeezing the lemon wedge over her tea before setting it aside. If there was one thing she was good at, and she was good at a great many things, it was going through the motions. She could stir her tea and nibble on biscuits with the best of them, and she did it well. 

In a sense she was fine. Perfectly fine. She'd slept through the night without a single nightmare and had woken up to Sirius Black curled around her, his head resting on her chest as he held her close. Was waking up like that a cure all for her problems? Certainly not, but it was a good fucking start.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" she finally asked out of exasperation, her spoon clanking against the saucer as she let it drop from her fingers.

Harry leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. "Like what?"

Hermione's jaw clenched as she glared at him. He was being deliberately obstinate. She hated when he was deliberately obstinate. "Like I'm going to fall apart at any moment," she hissed in reply. It wasn't prudent to raise one's voice in the middle of a cafe, she reminded herself. "I can assure you that is not the case."

Pulling off his glasses, he scrubbed at his face. She hated being angry, especially at him of all people. She hated that some days it didn't take much at all to send her over the edge. Those days were few and far between, but still enough to exasperate her.

“You would be the last person that I would expect to fall apart,” he said finally, his green eyes squinting at her before he slid his glasses back into place. “After everything we’ve been through you’ve always been the one that’s held it together. That’s the thing though, Mione, you don’t have to hold it together. You have people who will hold you while you let yourself fall apart.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she made herself look away from him as she brushed away the wayward few that had rolled down her cheeks, her hands moving to adjust the thick knit scarf around her neck. Stubborn pride prevented her from admitting that he was right. Maybe she did just need to go off on her own to scream, cry, and punch inanimate objects. But then there was that part of her, the dominant part, that insisted that she’d be just fine without engaging in such childish behavior. 

“Sirius stayed with me last night,” she said, changing the subject completely. That new bit of information would be enough to distract him for a while.

Harry choked on his tea and hastily wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Oh?’ he asked, his voice an octave higher as he tried to sound nonchalant. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes.

“Yes. He brought over the food that Molly had packed for me and then he stayed the night.” She poked at the remnants of her lemon with a fork.

“How..how did he get in? You had your Floo shut off.”

Turning her head, she gave him a flat look. “Honestly, Harry, you are a wizard,” she said with a sigh. “My wards are set to recognize only a select few, including you and Sirius, and a simple alohamora works wonders with Muggle locks.”

He looked somewhat mollified as he picked up a biscuit and popped it in his mouth. “He did tell me to just go home with Gin, that he’d see to you. I didn’t expect a sleepover, at least not quite this soon.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look surprised and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Recovering herself, she pulled her face into a more neutral expression, though there was nothing she could do about the flush in her cheeks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What is it that you always say? Don’t be so obtuse?” Harry asked with a smirk fixed on his face. “I’m not blind. Figuratively blind. I can see the way you two look at each other, the way you’re always so close to one another. Gin and George even have a betting pool going.”

Groaning, Hermione let her head fall in her hands. What was it with the Weasley children and gambling, she wondered. Her head shot back up then. “Do you have a bet on us?”

His smirk spread into a grin, wide and toothy. “I expect I’ll be collecting some galleons quite soon.”

“Fucking hell. Why am I even surprised?” she asked, her arms falling to her sides in exasperation. She fixed him with a hard stare before a wry smile spread across her face. “It was perfectly innocent, I’ll have you know. Just a good snog and lots of cuddles. No hanky panky.”

“Damn it, Mione!” Harry whined. “Now I’m going to be down five galleons!”

She threw her lemon wedge at him.

*

Her office was stifling. Tugging at the scarf around her neck, Hermione couldn’t help but wish that there was a window she could open. Cooling charms only accomplished so much and, as much as she would have liked to discard the new accessory she’d been sporting, she simply did not have it in her to keep up a glamor charm. So she willingly suffered as she carefully filed her old cases away to make room for the new ones. There was a system buried there somewhere beneath her towers of papers. She just didn’t see the point in explaining it to anyone; they’d never be able to keep it straight if she did.

Truth be told, she wasn’t even supposed to be there. Once word reached Kingsley about her little jaunt to Azkaban he extended her vacation by a few days. Of course, she’d objected, but somehow having the Minister of Magic stare down at you as though you were a petulant child was enough to make you shut up. So, she kept her grumbling to a minimum and made herself content with muttering under her breath. But just because she wasn’t allowed to come in and work didn’t mean she couldn’t gather up a few things to bring home with her. That’s what she told herself as she shrunk a stack of files and tucked them carefully away in her purse.

“Highlighting and copying is therapeutic,” she whispered to herself as she tucked a curl back behind her ear. It was true enough, and she had always enjoyed the monotony of it- even as a child. She was sure that said something about her, but she chose not to dwell on it.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Harry’s voice from her doorway caught her by surprise and her head shot up. He didn’t seem shocked in the slightest to see her sitting there looking as though she had her hand caught in the proverbial biscuit tin. If anything, the head of the Auror Department looked amused. 

Hermione let out a delicate sniff as her fingertips lightly drummed against a stack of paper. “Neither are you. Your shift is over,” she countered. As evasions went, it was a poor attempt.

He let out a snort and leaned back against the door frame. “Well spotted. Now, go home and finish out your vacation.”

Heaving a sigh, she stood and slipped her coat around her shoulders. “When did you get so bossy?” she asked as she pulled her hair free from the collar. Clutching her purse in her hand, she moved around her desk and came to a stop in front of him. For a moment she tried to remember just when it was that he’d become so tall. Somehow registering his height in comparison to hers hadn’t even crossed her mind at Hogwarts. They always seemed too busy for such trivial things.

“I’m fairly certain it was after I saved you from a troll in the girl’s loo,” Harry replied, his face thoughtful as he nodded. She just rolled her eyes and punched his arm for good measure.

Hermione let out a hum as she regarded him, her head cocked to the side as she gave a flick of her wand. The lights in her office went out and she shooed her best friend out of the door before shutting and locking it behind her. It would have been incredibly easy to point out that he and Ron were the reason that she’d been in the loo in the first place, but she didn’t. “What are your plans tonight?” she asked, steering the conversation away from trolls in the bathroom.

“Well,” he began as he slung a lazy arm around her shoulder. “Sirius has been clearing up the attic. He’s been muttering about fixing the ceiling. I didn’t even know there was a problem with it. So, I’m going to see Ginny.”

She let out a snicker as she shoved her hands in the pocket of her coat. “Oh, I’m sure Cardiff is lovely this time of the year. Nice and chilly,” she pointed out.

A grin spread across his face as he looked down at her and wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m counting on it. Maybe a fire, a rug, and a bottle of firewhisky. Handcuffs.”

“I really don’t need the details of your sex life, Harry. Thank you.”

*

Nestled beneath the gabled roof, the attic of Grimmauld Place stretched the full width and length of the house. It was understandably impressive and she considered it to be absolutely wonderful- especially now that Buckbeak’s nest had been cleared out and the floors scrubbed. This was the kind of attic she’d always dreamed of as a little girl, a kind of place where she could hide away with her books for hours on end and no one would bother her. She envied Sirius for this, and the fabled Black family library, and part of her just wanted to go ahead and ask permission to move in. But that, she decided, would be rather rude.

The record player she'd had repaired for Sirius was carefully placed on a table beneath the eaves, the needle having long fallen off of the still rotating vinyl. For a moment she just stared at him as he stood in the middle of the room, wand moving in intricate patterns as he silently worked to charm the ceiling. He was recreating the Great Hall, though on a much smaller scale, and she couldn't help but smile. Hogwarts had been his home, just as much as it had been hers, and it somehow made sense for him to bring it here, to lift the darkness that had hung over the London mansion.

What amused her the most was the half smoked cigarette that hung from his lips. Shrugging off her jacket, Hermione slipped off her shoes and padded quietly across the room and plucked the fag from him before it had the chance to hit the floor. He glanced down at her briefly, a crooked smile on his face, before turning his attention back to his work. She simply gave his hipbone a passing squeeze as she made her way over to the record player, smoke billowing from her nose as she took a long drag from his cigarette.

The floor boards were smooth beneath her bare feet and she gave her toes a cursory wiggle to work out the stiffness of being confined in her sensible, but slightly pinching flats. There was something about standing there, smoking his cigarette while she thumbed through his records, that seemed almost domestic. Hermione paused, her hand still poised over a well-worn copy of Black Sabbath’s Masters of Reality, and tried to soak it all in. The fact of the matter was that she could get used to feeling like this with him and it scared her. It scared her that she wanted it so very much and she couldn’t help but be afraid that it was all in her imagination.

Letting out a breath, she clutched the cigarette between two fingers and continued to browse before finally settling and swapping out the record in the player for something new. The needle clicked into place and a soft hum of white noise filled the attic before being swallowed by the music itself. She found herself sagging then, her shoulders dropping as she let the music flow through her. This, she decided, was up there with highlighting and copying as far as relaxing went.

She felt him behind her before he touched her, his fingers deftly plucking his cigarette back from her fingers. Even over the music, she could hear the paper burning as he inhaled, his breath ruffling her hair as he let the air back out again. The cigarette was stubbed out a second later, the butt joining the myriad of others that lay discarded in one of his mother’s china bowls. His hands were on her then, smoothing over her hips before they gently spun her about. 

Hermione opened her eyes. Above them the night sky twinkled, the stars and planets moved, swirling in an imitation of their real counterparts. But it was his eyes that held her attention, the grey irises seeming somehow darker as he stared down at her. That same crooked smile curled over his lips and she felt her stomach do a somersault. Did he know that when he looked at her like that it made her weak in the knees? He probably did it on purpose- that wouldn’t have surprised her in the least.

“Dance with me,” he said, and she couldn’t quite decide if it was a question or a statement. Either way, it didn’t matter. She just nodded and let herself be pulled along after him.

“You’d better not step on my toes,” she cautioned with a smile as he pressed his hand against the small of her back and drew her close. 

Sirius let out a laugh and kissed her forehead. “I won’t, kitten. I’m not that bad a dancer.”

*

Sirius Black had lied. Well, she thought, that was unfair. It was more a case of him underselling himself. He wasn’t a bad dancer. If anything he was great and when she’d called him on it he only shrugged and muttered something about Pureblood society before spinning her around. Still, Hermione decided that this was a talent she was going to exploit- and often.

Cheeks flushed and chest heaving, she settled herself down on the rug beneath one of the attic windows and uttered a quick cushioning charm before laying back. She turned on her side, her eyes watching him as he changed the record and shuffled around the room. At some point, he’d lost his shoes as well and she found herself fascinated by his feet. There was something about the way they looked peeking out from beneath the worn hems of his jeans that was oddly sexy. It was a new thought and she found that she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it.

He turned to face her then, his eyes still dark and mercurial as he stared down at her. She couldn’t quite read his expression and it concerned her. Brows knit together, she regarded him as she bit at the skin around her thumb. How had they gotten here, she wondered, how had he managed to entwine himself so completely with her without her even realizing it? Did he think about kissing her as often as she thought about kissing him? Did he wonder what it would feel like to have her skin pressed against his? Her ingrained curiosity wanted desperate to be satiated, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to make herself ask. Not yet.

“I can hear your brain working from here, kitten,” he said as he lowered himself to the floor and laid down beside her. His finger began to trace a line along her jaw and she couldn’t help but wonder if he could feel her heartbeat thrumming beneath her skin.

Hermione swallowed thickly. “It never stops,” she said, her voice soft as she found herself leaning into his touch. “Sometimes I wish it would. Some things I just don’t want to think about.”

Sirius nodded as his hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing idly over her bottom lip. “I know,” he whispered. And that was the gods’ honest truth. He did know; he was haunted the same way she was and yet he was willing to hold her as she tried to pull herself out of it. In that moment Hermione swore to herself that she would do the same for him. “We can make new things to think about. We can make it so that the new things outnumber the old and drown out the bad.”

“I’d like that,” she replied. Gaze locked with his, she took the pad of his thumb between her teeth and nibbled it lightly. 

It was fascinating to watch him, his eyes darkening further as he stared down at her lips wrapped around the tip of his finger. She smiled then as she released her hold on him, her head falling back as she moved to lay flat against the floor. He let out a groan, the sound soft and rumbling in the back of his throat, as he moved to lean over her.

Her tongue darted out over her suddenly dry lips as he stared down at her. It struck her then just how overwhelming it was to lay there beneath him, his gaze intense as he stared down at her. Hermione let out a shuddering breath and tried to ignore the erratic beating of her heart in her chest. Everything about him seemed to assault her then, the smell of him, the heat of his body, the ends of his black hair tickling her cheeks. She wanted to soak it in, let it consume her entirely, and that realization excited her despite herself.

His lips pursed as his hand tugged at the scarf the was still wound around her neck. Even as the material gently gave way, it bit at her still tender throat and she tried not to grimace. Cool air hit her newly exposed skin and she shivered.

“Oh little witch,” he whispered as his fingertips lightly moved over the ugly green bruising. “I wanted to kill him, and I would have marched back into that fucking building to do it. But I couldn’t...I couldn’t be that man. I couldn’t leave you alone. I won’t leave you alone.”

Hermione was vaguely away of the tears escaping from the corners of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. It seemed to take everything she had to speak. “I know,” she whispered as he bent down to kiss away her tears. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Not...not without you.”

Sirius kissed her then, his body settling in between her legs. The weight of him on top of her was something that she hadn’t realized she needed and she found herself pulling him closer still. He was the air that she needed to breathe in, taking in lungful after lungful. This was the man that kept her in place, that held her up when she couldn’t do it herself. Thought after thought flooded her then as he pressed down against her and her fingers twisted in his dark hair as her mouth moving against his.

In a strange way, it felt as though she was falling, even as she lay pressed between him and the floor. The heat of his hands seeped through the material of her shirt as they moved over her body. Part of her wanted him to just rip the damn thing off of her, but he didn’t. Instead, his movements were achingly slow as his fingers curled around the hem and pulled it upward.

He sat back on his heels, staring down at her as his chest heaved. Her skin was flushed, and she quickly moved to cover the long purple scar that marred her torso. The urge to hide flooded her and she turned her head away, her eyes screwing themselves shut as she tried to pretend that the scar wasn’t there, that the man who’d tried to break her neck with his bare hands hadn’t tried to cut her in half with the fire of his own making.

“Stop hiding,” Sirius said, the low rumble of his voice washing over her as his hands curled around her wrists and pulled her arms away. 

Somehow that simple sentence broke her all over again and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. His breath ghosted over her skin as he took the time to kiss along the entire line of her scar. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth as she told herself to breathe. The few sexual encounters that she’d had had always been in the dark where no one could see her. Now she was laid bare, everything raw and open and at his mercy, and Sirius Black did nothing but kiss the parts that she hated the most.

“I’m sorry I’m so broken,” she managed to whisper, her voice cracking as she pushed her curls back from her flushed face.

He just shook his head, his hair gliding over her stomach like silk. “You’re not broken, Hermione,” he said as he looked up at her again and her breath hitched under the intensity of his gaze. “All I see is gold in you. Those cracks and the damage that you fight to hide have been filled, and I swear they shine so brightly that they’re blinding. I can’t look away from you. I don’t want to look away from you.”

For a moment she was silent, her bottom lip trembling as she let everything he’d said sink in. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t process his words, and for the first time in her life, she found herself at a loss for what to do. “Come here, Sirius,” she finally managed to whisper. 

There was no hesitation from him and he crawled over her body, his mouth covering hers again. Her hands moved down his back, the need to feel his skin against hers quickly becoming prevalent in her mind. He seemed to sense the change in her, the desperation that seemed to mirror his own, and he pulled back just far enough to pull his shirt over his head. The heat radiating off of him made her let out a soft hiss and she pushed him back.

“I have to see you, too,” she whispered. Her hands shook as they pressed against his chest, the black ink of his tattoos swirling over his skin. In that moment she wanted to trace them all, committing them all to memory so that she could draw each one in her sleep. They meant something, each one, and she wanted to know what they were, why he’d placed them in a specific spot. But she held back her questions, deciding that she had plenty of time for that later. Now it was just to two of them laying in the middle of a room and her need was steadily growing.

Hermione let him pull her up, her body already limp from his simple touches. His lips moved over her collarbone as she felt her bra fall away from her, the satin hanging on her shoulders. A moment later it was tossed away and his mouth moved further down and over the swell of her breast only to capture a hardened nipple between his teeth.

There was music still playing, she knew there was, but it all seemed to be static as he sucked at her sensitive skin. That familiar desperation swelled up inside of her again and she found herself tugging at the waistband of his jeans, her small fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. Breaking away from her, his jeans and boxers were tossed aside, her own trousers and knickers soon joining the pile of discards. 

The heat of her arousal trickled down the inside of her thigh and she shivered as one long, aristocratic finger wiped it up and slid inside of her. He sighed, his forehead resting against her shoulder as he slipped in another finger and began to thrust. Hermione clung to him, her toes curling into the floor as her hips rocked up against his hand, the heel of his palm pressing up against her clit as she ground herself against him.

“Please,” she whimpered as she pressed her face against the top of his head. For the life of her, she didn’t quite know what she was begging for. All she knew was that a heated coil was steadily tightening within her as his fingers curled up inside of her, pushing steadily against that one spot that she was never quite able to reach on her own. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the dam inside her broke and her walls clamped down around his fingers.

If it hadn’t been for his arm wrapped around her waist she was sure that her body would have slumped down to the floor. Sweat covered her skin in a thin sheen, but that didn’t seem to deter him from kissing her, his teeth biting at her collarbone before his tongue moved over it in a long stroke. She gripped onto his shoulders as he slowly withdrew his fingers, her hips following the movement as she let out a soft cry. 

Watching him put those fingers in his mouth and suck them clean was something completely new to her and only served to make her soaking wet all over again. She put a hand out to stop him, to pull his fingers from his lips only to replace them with her own. The taste of her release was different, and she found that she liked it. Or maybe it was just the taste of him that made her moan.

“Fuck kitten,” he whispered as he pulled his fingers from her mouth and kissed her. “I need you, love.”

Hermione let him push her back down to the floor, her tongue sliding over his as he deepened the kiss and settled himself between her thighs. He was hard against her, and she couldn’t help but moan as his cock slid back and forth over her soaking cunt. Nails raking lightly down his back, she bucked up against him. She couldn’t seem to even form the words to tell him that she needed to feel him inside of her. But he seemed to sense it and he slowly entered, and her back arched up off of the floor as the width of him stretched her in the most delicious way.

For a moment he just lay there, unmoving as he panted against her skin. Then he began to move. At first, he tried to keep the pace slow, his strokes almost gentle as he moved, but it became quickly apparent that that didn’t suit either one of them. His hand gripped her thigh, pressing it back as his hips snapped against her. The change in angle forced a strangled from her throat and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“Don’t,” Sirius said, his voice almost a growl as he continued to thrust, her leg now slung over his shoulder. “Don’t silence yourself. I want to hear you, love. Please.”

It was an easy order to follow and she let her hand fall away from her mouth, the cries and moans now tumbling from her lips in abandon. Her body began to writhe beneath him, her movements becoming quickly erratic as she came closer and closer to the edge. Chest arching up against him, she let herself fall. “Sirius,” she managed to say, her voice ragged as her body shook with the strength of her release.

“Fuck, Hermione,” was all he could seem to say as she fluttered around him, the order of the words never the same as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. A moment later he followed, his cock throbbing inside of her as her name became almost a prayer on his lips. Her leg fell gracelessly back down to the floor and it took what little strength she had left to let her arms curl around him, her fingers pulling lightly at the ends of his hair.

The record continued to play, she noticed as he rolled off of her and tucked her against his side. It didn’t seem to matter that the room smelled of sex and that they were laying naked in the middle of his attic. He just held her close and carefully pushed her sweat-soaked curls back from her face before kissing her again.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered against her forehead, his words punctuated with kisses against her damp skin.

“Just tonight?”

*


End file.
